PHILIP 
WINWOOD 


BY- ROBERT 

NEIL^ON 

STEPHENS 


PHILIP   WINWOOD 


"The  bravest  are  the  tenderest." 

BAYARD  TAYLOR. 


Works  of 

ROBERT  NEILSON  STEPHENS 


An  Enemy  to  the  King 

(Twenty-sixth  Thousand) 

The  Continental  Dragoon 

(Seventeenth  Thousand) 

The  Road  to  Paris 

(Sixteenth  Thousand) 

A  Gentleman  Player 

(Thirty-fifth  Thousand) 

Philip  ".        rood 


L.  C.  PAGE  AND   COMPANY,  Publishers 

(Incorporated) 
213  Summer  St.,  Boston,  Mass. 


CAPTAIX    PHILIP    WINWOOD. 


»JoJ«»2«»joj«goj4i^ 

IPHILIP 
WINWOOD 


A  A   Sketch  of  the  Domestic  'History  of  an  American 

M  Captain    in   the   War   of  Independence ;     Embracing 

J  Events     that     Occurred     between     and     during    the 

©  Years    1763   and    1786,  in  New  York  and   London  : 

&|  written    by    His   Enemy    in  War,    Herbert    Rujfell, 

&  Lieutenant  in  the  Loyalist  Forces. 


Presented  Anew  by 

Robert  Neilson  Stephens 

Author  of  "A  Gentleman  Player,"  "An 
Enemy  to  the  King,"  "The  Continental 
Dragoon,"  "The  Road  to  Paris,"  etc. 

Illustrated  by 

E.  W.   D.   Hamilton 


\Boston:       L.      C.      PAGE      & 
COMPANY    (Incorporated)  Mdcccc 


Copyright,  igoo 

BY  L.  C.  PAGE  AND  COMPANY 
(INCORPORATED) 

All  rights  reserved 


Colonfal 

Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  C.  H.  Simonds  &  Co. 
Boston,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 


CONTENTS. 


310 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.     PHILIP'S  ARRIVAL  IN  NEW  YORK       .        .  11 

II.     THE  FARINGFIELDS 31 

III.    WHEREIN  Tis  SHOWN  THAT  BOYS  ARE  BUT 

BOYS 52 

IV.     How  PHILIP  AND  I   BEHAVED  AS  RIVALS 

IN  LOVE 74 

V.     WE     HEAR     STARTLING     NEWS,    WHICH 

BRINGS  ABOUT  A  FAMILY  "SCENE"     .  101 
VI.     NED  COMES  BACK,  WITH  AN  INTERESTING 

TALE  OF  A  FORTUNATE  IRISHMAN       .  124 

VII.     ENEMIES  IN  WAR 141 

VIII.     I  MEET  AN  OLD  FRIEND  IN  THE  DARK    .  167 
IX.     PHILIP'S     ADVENTURES  —  CAPTAIN     FAL 
CONER  COMES  TO  TOWN      .        .        .  181 

X.     A  FINE  PROJECT 196 

XI.    WINWOOD  COMES  TO  SEE  His  WIFE         .  218 

XII.     THEIR  INTERVIEW 237 

XIII.  WHEREIN  CAPTAIN  WINWOOD  DECLINES  A 

PROMOTION 252 

XIV.  THE     BAD    SHILLING    TURNS    UP    ONCE 

MORE  IN  QUEEN  STREET     .        .        .       270 
XV.     IN  WHICH   THERE   Is   A  FLIGHT  BY  SEA, 

AND  A  DUEL  BY  MOONLIGHT        .        .      291 
1 


2061998 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTBR 

XVI. 

XVII. 

XVIII. 

XIX. 

XX. 

XXI. 


FOLLOWS  THE  FORTUNES  OF  MADGE  AND 
NED 

I  HEAR  AGAIN  FROM  WINWOOD 

PHILIP  COMES  AT  LAST  TO  LONDON  . 

WE  MEET  A  PLAY -ACTRESS  THERE  . 

WE  INTRUDE  UPON  A  GENTLEMAN  AT  A 
COFFEE-HOUSE  

THE  LAST,  AND  MOST  EVENTFUL,  OF  THE 
HISTORY 


375 


388 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS, 


PAGE 

CAPTAIN  PHILIP  WINWOOD        ....  Frontispiece 

"  OUR  MOTIONS,  AS  WE  TOUCHED  OUR  LIPS  WITH 
THEM,  WERE  SO  IN  UNISON  THAT  MARGARET 
LAUGHED  "........  97 

"SHE    WAS    INDEED    THE   TOAST    OF    THE    ARMY"  .         170 

"'HE  is  A  —  AN  ACQUAINTANCE'"   ....       243 
"  HE  FINALLY  DREW  BACK   TO   GIVE   HER  A   MORE 

EFFECTUAL  BLOW  " 321 

"  IT  WAS  PHILIP'S  CUSTOM,  AT  THIS  TIME,  TO  AT 
TEND  FIRST  NIGHTS  AT  THE  PLAYHOUSES  "  .  361 


PHILIP   WINWOOD. 

CHAPTER   I. 

Philip's  Arrival  in  New   York. 

'Tis  not  the  practice  of  writers  to  choose  for  biog 
raphy  men  who  have  made  no  more  noise  in  the 
world  than  Captain  Winwood  has ;  nor  the  act  of 
gentlemen,  in  ordinary  cases,  to  publish  such  private 
matters  as  this  recital  will  present.  But  I  consider, 
on  the  one  hand,  that  Win  wood's  history  contains  as 
much  of  interest,  and  as  good  an  example  of  manly 
virtues,  as  will  be  found  in  the  life  of  many  a  hero 
more  renowned ;  and,  on  the  other,  that  his  story  has 
been  so  partially  known,  and  so  distorted,  it  becomes 
indeed  the  duty  of  a  gentleman,  when  that  gentle 
man  was  his  nearest  friend,  to  put  forth  that  story 
truly,  and  so  give  the  lie  for  ever  to  the  detractors  of 
a  brave  and  kindly  man. 

There  was  a  saying  in  the  American  army,  pro 
ceeding  first  from  Major  Harry  Lee,  of  their  famous 


12  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

Light  Horse,  that  Captain  Winwood  was  in  America, 
in  the  smaller  way  his  modesty  permitted,  what  the 
Chevalier  Bayard  was  in  France,  and  Sir  Philip  Sid 
ney  in  England.  This  has  been  received  more  than 
once  (such  is  the  malice  of  conscious  inferiority) 
with  derisive  smiles  or  supercilious  sneers ;  and  not 
only  by  certain  of  his  own  countrymen,  but  even  in 
my  presence,  when  my  friendship  for  Winwood, 
though  I  had  been  his  rival  in  love  and  his  enemy  in 
war,  was  not  less  known  than  was  my  quickness  to 
take  offence  and  avenge  it.  I  dealt  with  one  such 
case,  at  the  hour  of  dawn,  in  a  glade  near  the  Bowery 
lane,  a  little  way  out  of  New  York.  And  I  might 
have  continued  to  vindicate  my  friend's  character  so  : 
either  with  pistols,  as  at  Weehawken  across  the  Hud 
son,  soon  after  the  war,  I  vindicated  the  motives  of 
us  Englishmen  of  American  birth  who  stood  for  the 
king  in  the  war  of  Independence ;  or  with  rapiers,  as 
I  defended  the  name  of  our  admired  enemy,  Wash 
ington,  against  a  certain  defamer,  one  morning  in 
Hyde  Park,  after  I  had  come  to  London.  But  it  has 
occurred  to  me  that  I  can  better  serve  Win  wood's 
reputation  by  the  spilling  of  ink  with  a  quill  than  of 
blood  with  a  sword  or  pistol.  This  consideration, 
which  is  far  from  a  desire  to  compete  with  the 
young  gentlemen  who  strive  for  farthings  and  fame, 
in  Grub  Street,  is  my  apology  for  profaning  with  my 
unskilled  hand  the  implement  ennobled  by  the  use 


PHILIP'S  ARRIVAL   IN  NEW   YORK.  13 

of  a  Johnson  and  a  Goldsmith,  a  Fielding  and  an 
Addison. 

My  acquaintance  with  the  Captain's  life,  from  the 
vantage  of  an  eye-witness  and  comrade,  goes  back  to 
the  time  when  all  of  us  concerned  were  children  ; 
to  the  very  day,  in  truth,  when  Philip,  a  pale  and 
slender  lad  of  eleven  years,  first  set  foot  in  New 
York,  and  first  set  eye  on  Margaret  Faringfield. 

As  I  think  of  it,  it  seems  but  yesterday,  and  my 
self  a  boy  again  :  but  it  was,  in  fact,  in  the  year 
1763  ;  and  late  in  the  afternoon  of  a  sunny  Summer 
day.  I  remember  well  how  thick  and  heavy  the 
green  leaves  hung  upon  the  trees  that  thrust  their 
branches  out  over  the  garden  walls  and  fences  of  our 
quiet  street. 

Tired  from  a  day's  play,  or  perchance  lazy  from 
the  heat,  I  sprawled  upon  the  front  step  of  our 
house,  which  was  next  the  residence  of  the  Faring- 
fields,  in  what  was  then  called  Queen  Street.  I 
believe  the  name  of  that,  as  of  many  another  in 
New  York,  has  been  changed  since  the  war,  having 
savoured  too  much  of  royalty  for  republican  taste.1 
The  Faringfield  house,  like  the  family,  was  one  of 
the  finest  in  New  York  ;  and  there  were  in  that 
young  city  greater  mansions  than  one  would  have 
thought  to  find  in  a  little  colonial  seaport  —  a  ru 
ral-looking  provincial  place,  truly,  which  has  been 
likened  to  a  Dutch  town  almost  wholly  transformed 


14  PHILIP   WINWOOD. 

into  the  semblance  of  some  secondary  English  town, 
or  into  a  tiny,  far-off  imitation  of  London.  It  lacked, 
of  course,  the  grand,  gray  churches,  the  palaces  and 
historic  places,  that  tell  of  what  a  past  has  been 
London's  ;  but  it  lacked,  too,  the  begriming  smoke 
and  fog  that  are  too  much  of  London's  present.  In 
deed,  never  had  any  town  a  clearer  sky,  or  brighter 
sunshine,  than  are  New  York's. 

From  the  Summer  power  of  this  sunshine,  our 
part  of  Queen  Street  was  sheltered  by  the  trees  of 
gardens  and  open  spaces  ;  maple,  oak,  chestnut,  lin 
den,  locust,  willow,  what  not  ?  There  was  a  garden, 
wherein  the  breeze  sighed  all  day,  between  our  house 
and  the  Faringfield  mansion,  to  which  it  pertained. 
That  vast  house,  of  red  and  yellow  brick,  was  two 
stories  and  a  garret  high,  and  had  a  doubly-sloping 
roof  pierced  with  dormer  windows.  The  mansion's 
lower  windows  and  wide  front  door  were  framed  with 
carved  wood-work,  painted  white.  Its  garden  gate, 
like  its  front  door,  opened  directly  to  the  street ;  and 
in  the  garden  gateway,  as  I  lounged  on  our  front 
step  that  Summer  evening,  Madge  Faringfield  stood, 
running  her  fingers  through  the  thick  white  and 
brown  hair  of  her  huge  dog  at  her  side. 

The  dog's  head  was  almost  on  a  level  with  hers, 
for  she  was  then  but  eight  years  old,  a  very  bright 
and  pretty  child.  She  turned  her  quick  glance  down 
the  street  as  she  stood ;  and  saw  me  lying  so  lazy ; 


PHILIP'S  ARRIVAL   IN  NEW   YORK.  15 

and  at  once  her  gray  eyes  took  on  a  teasing  and 
deriding  light,  and  I  felt  I  was  in  for  some  ironi 
cal,  quizzing  speech  or  other.  But  just  then  her 
look  fell  upon  something  farther  down  the  way, 
toward  Hanover  Square,  and  lingered  in  a  half- 
amused  kind  of  curiosity.  I  directed  my  own  gaze 
to  see  what  possessed  hers,  and  this  is  what  we 
both  beheld  together,  little  guessing  what  the 
years  to  come  should  bring  to  make  that  moment 
memorable  in  our  minds. 

A  thin  but  well-formed  boy  of  eleven ;  with  a 
pleasant,  kindly  face,  somewhat  too  white,  in 
which  there  was  a  look  —  as  there  was  evidence 
in  his  walk  also  —  of  his  being  tired  from  pro 
longed  exertion  or  endurance.  He  was  decently, 
though  not  expensively,  clad  in  black  cloth,  his 
three-cornered  felt  hat,  wide-skirted  coat,  and  ill- 
fitting  knee-breeches,  being  all  of  the  same 
solemn  hue.  I  was  to  perceive  later  that  his 
clothes  were  old  and  carefully  mended.  His 
gray  silk  stockings  ill  accorded  with  his  poor 
shoes,  of  which  the  buckles  were  of  steel.  He 
carried  in  one  hand  a  large,  ancient  travelling-bag, 
so  heavy  that  it  strained  his  muscles  and  dragged 
him  down,  thus  partly  explaining  the  fatigued  look 
in  his  face ;  and  in  his  other  hand  a  basket,  from 
the  open  top  of  which  there  appeared,  thrust  out, 
the  head  of  a  live  gray  kitten. 


1 6  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

This  pretty  animal's  look  of  strangeness  to  its 
surroundings,  as  it  gazed  about  with  curiosity, 
would  alone  have  proclaimed  that  it  was  arrived 
from  travel ;  had  not  the  baggage  and  appearance 
of  its  bearer  told  the  same  story.  The  boy,  also, 
kept  an  alert  eye  forward  as  he  advanced  up  the 
street,  but  it  was  soon  evident  that  he  gazed  in 
search  of  some  particular  object.  This  object,  as 
the  lad  finally  satisfied  himself  by  scanning  it  and 
its  neighbours  twice  over,  proved  to  be  the  house 
immediately  opposite  ours.  It  was  one  of  a  row 
of  small,  old  brick  residences,  with  Dutch  gable 
ends  toward  the  street.  Having  made  sure  of  its 
identity,  and  having  reddened  a  little  at  the  gaze  of 
Madge  and  me,  the  young  stranger  set  down  his  bag 
with  perceptible  signs  of  physical  relief,  and,  keeping 
in  his  grasp  the  basket  with  the  cat,  knocked  with  a 
seemingly  forced  boldness  —  as  if  he  were  conscious 
of  timidity  to  be  overcome  —  upon  the  door. 

At  that,  Madge  Faringfield  could  not  help 
laughing  aloud. 

It  was  a  light,  rippling,  little  laugh,  entirely  good- 
natured,  lasting  but  a  moment.  But  it  sufficed  to 
make  the  boy  turn  and  look  at  her  and  blush  again, 
as  if  he  were  hurt  but  bore  no  resentment. 

Then  I,  who  knew  what  it  was  to  be  wounded  by 
a  girl's  laugh,  especially  Madge's,  thought  it  time  to 
explain,  and  called  out  to  the  lad  : 


PHILIP'S  ARRIVAL  IN  NEW   YORK.  I? 

"There's  nobody  at  home  there." 

The  boy  gazed  at  me  at  a  loss ;  then,  plainly 
reluctant  to  believe  me,  he  once  more  inspected 
the  blank,  closed  front  of  the  house,  for  denial  or 
confirmation  of  my  word.  When  he  next  looked 
back  at  me,  the  expression  of  inquiring  helpless 
ness  and  vague  alarm  on  his  face,  as  if  the  earth 
were  giving  way  beneath  his  feet,  was  half  comical, 
half  pitiful  to  see. 

"  It  is  Mr.  Aitken's  house,  is  it  not  ? "  he  asked, 
in  a  tone  low  and  civil,  though  it  seemed  to  betray 
a  rapid  beating  of  the  heart  after  a  sudden  sinking 
thereof. 

"  It  was,"  I  replied,  "  but  he  has  gone  back  to 
England,  and  that  house  is  empty." 

The  lad's  dismay  now  became  complete,  yet  it 
appeared  in  no  other  way  than  in  the  forlorn  ex 
pression  of  his  sharp,  pale  countenance,  and  in  the 
unconscious  appeal  with  which  his  blue  eyes  sur 
veyed  Madge  and  me  in  turn.  But  in  a  few 
moments  he  collected  himself,  as  if  for  the  neces 
sary  dealing  with  some  unexpected  castastrophe, 
and  asked  me,  a  little  huskily  still : 

"  When  will  he  come  home  ?  " 

"  Never,  to  this  house,  I  think.  Another  customs 
officer  has  come  over  in  his  place,  but  this  one  lodges 
at  the  King's  Arms,  because  he's  a  bachelor." 

The  lad  cast  a  final  hopeless  glance  at  the  house, 


1 8  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

and  then  mechanically  took  a  folded  letter  from  an 
inner  pocket,  and  dismally  regarded  the  name  on  the 
back. 

"  I  had  a  letter  for  him,"  he  said,  presently,  look 
ing  again  across  the  street  at  me  and  Madge,  for  the 
curious  Miss  Faringfield  had  walked  down  from  her 
gateway  to  my  side,  that  she  might  view  the  stranger 
better.  And  now  she  spoke,  in  her  fearless,  good- 
humoured,  somewhat  forward  way  : 

"  If  you  will  give  the  letter  to  me,  my  father  will 
send  it  to  Mr.  Aitken  in  London." 

"Thank  you,  but  that  would  be  of  no  use,"  said 
the  lad,  with  a  disconsolate  smile. 

"Why  not?"  cried  Madge  promptly,  and  started 
forthwith  skipping  across  the  dusty  street.  I  fol 
lowed,  and  in  a  moment  we  two  were  quite  close  to 
the  newcomer. 

"You're  tired,"  said  Madge,  not  waiting  for  his 
answer.  "  Why  don't  you  sit  down  ? "  And  she 
pointed  to  the  steps  of  the  vacant  house. 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  lad,  but  with  a  bow,  and  a 
gesture  that  meant  he  would  not  sit  while  a  lady 
stood,  albeit  the  lady's  age  was  but  eight  years. 

Madge,  pleased  at  this,  smiled,  and  perched  her 
self  on  the  upper  step.  Waiting  to  be  assured  that 
I  preferred  standing,  the  newcomer  then  seated  him 
self  on  his  own  travelling-bag,  an  involuntary  sigh  of 
comfort  showing  how  welcome  was  this  rest. 


PHILIP'S  ARRIVAL   IN  NEW   YORK.  19 

"  Did  you  come  to  visit  in  New  York  ? "  at  once 
began  the  inquisitive  Madge. 

"Yes,  I  —  I  came  to  see  Mr.  Aitken,"  was  the 
hesitating  and  dubious  answer. 

"And  so  you'll  have  to  go  back  home  without 
seeing  him  ? " 

"  I  don't  very  well  see  how  I  can  go  back,"  said 
the  boy  slowly. 

"  Oh,  then  you  will  visit  some  one  else,  or  stay  at 
the  tavern  ?  "  Madge  went  on. 

"  I  don't  know  any  one  else  here,"  was  the  reply, 
"  and  I  can't  stay  at  the  tavern." 

"  Why,  then,  what  will  you  do  ?  " 

"I  don't  know  —  yet,"  the  lad  answered,  looking 
the  picture  of  loneliness. 

"  Where  do  you  live  ? "  I  put  in. 

"  I  did  live  in  Philadelphia,  but  I  left  there  the 
other  day  by  the  stage-coach,  and  arrived  just  now 
in  New  York  by  the  boat." 

"  And  why  can't  you  go  back  there  ?  "  I  continued. 

"Why,  because,  —  I  had  just  money  enough  left 
to  pay  my  way  to  New  York ;  and  even  if  I  should 
walk  back,  I've  no  place  there  to  go  back  to,  and  no 
one  at  all  —  now  —  "  He  broke  off  here,  his  voice 
faltering ;  and  his  blue  eyes  filled  with  moisture. 
But  he  made  a  swallow,  and  checked  the  tears,  and 
sat  gently  stroking  the  head  of  his  kitten. 

For  a  little  time  none  of  us  spoke,  while  I  stood 


2O  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

staring  somewhat  abashed  at  the  lad's  evident  emo 
tion.  Madge  studied  his  countenance  intently,  and 
doubtless  used  her  imagination  to  suppose  little 
Tom  —  her  younger  and  favourite  brother  —  in  this 
stranger's  place.  Whatever  it  was  that  impelled 
her,  she  suddenly  said  to  him,  "  Wait  here,"  and 
turning,  ran  back  across  the  street,  and  disappeared 
through  the  garden  gate. 

Instead  of  following  her,  the  dog  went  up  to  the 
new  boy's  cat  and  sniffed  at  its  nose,  causing  it  to 
whisk  back  its  head  and  gaze  spellbound.  To  show 
his  peaceful  mind,  the  dog  wagged  his  tail,  and  by 
degrees  so  won  the  kitten's  confidence  that  it  pres 
ently  put  forth  its  face  again  and  exchanged  sniffs. 

"  I  should  think  you'd  have  a  dog,  instead  of  a 
cat,"  said  I,  considering  the  stranger's  sex. 

He  answered  nothing  to  this,  but  looked  quite 
affectionately  at  his  pet.  I  set  it  down  as  odd  that 
so  manly  a  lad  should  so  openly  show  liking  for  a 
cat.  The  conduct  of  the  animal  in  its  making  ac 
quaintance  with  the  dog ;  the  good-humoured  assur 
ance  of  the  one,  and  the  cautious  coyness  of  the 
other ;  amused  us  till  presently  Madge's  voice  was 
heard  ;  and  then  we  saw  her  coming  from  the  garden, 
speaking  to  her  father,  who  walked  bareheaded  be 
side  her.  Behind,  at  a  little  distance,  came  Madge's 
mother  and  little  Tom.  All  four  stopped  at  the 
gateway,  and  looked  curiously  toward  us. 


PHILIP'S  ARRIVAL   IN  NEW   YORK.  21 

"  Come  over  here,  boy,"  called  Madge,  and  heeded 
not  the  reproof  her  mother  instantly  gave  her  in  an 
undertone  for  her  forwardness.  For  any  one  of  his 
children  but  Madge,  reproof  would  have  come  from 
her  father  also  ;  in  all  save  where  she  was  concerned, 
he  was  a  singularly  correct  and  dignified  man,  to  the 
point  of  stiffness  and  austerity.  His  wife,  a  pretty, 
vain,  inoffensive  woman,  was  always  chiding  her 
children  for  their  smaller  faults,  and  never  seeing 
the  traits  that  might  lead  to  graver  ones. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Faringfield  awaited  the  effect  of 
Madge's  invitation,  or  rather  command,  adding  noth 
ing  to  it.  The  boy's  colour  showed  his  diffidence, 
under  the  scrutiny  of  so  many  coldly  inquiring  eyes  ; 
but  after  a  moment  he  rose,  and  I,  with  greater 
quickness,  seized  his  bag  by  the  handle  and  started 
across  the  street  with  it.  He  called  out  a  surprised 
and  grateful  "  Thank  you,"  and  followed  me.  I  was 
speedily  glad  I  had  not  undertaken  to  carry  the 
bag  as  far  as  he  had  done;  'twas  all  I  could  do  to 
bear  it. 

"  How  is  this,  lad  ?  "  said  Mr.  Faringfield,  when 
the  boy,  with  hat  off,  stood  before  him.  The  tone 
was  stern  enough,  a  stranger  would  have  thought, 
though  it  was  indeed  a  kindly  one  for  Madge's 
father.  "  You  have  come  from  Philadelphia  to 
visit  Mr.  Aitken  ?  Is  he  your  relation  ? " 

"No,  sir;  he  was  a  friend  of  my  father's  before 


22  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

my  father  came  to  America,"  replied  the  lad,  in  a 
low,  respectful  voice. 

"  Yet  your  father  did  not  know  he  was  gone  back 
to  England  ?  How  is  that  ?  " 

"  My  father  is  dead,  sir ;  he  died  six  years  ago." 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  replied  Mr.  Faringfield,  a  little  taken 
down  from  his  severity.  "  And  the  letter  my  little 
girl  tells  me  of  ?  " 

"  If  you  please,  my  mother  wrote  it,  sir,"  said 
the  boy,  looking  at  the  letter  in  his  hand,  his  voice 
trembling  a  little.  He  seemed  to  think,  from  the 
manner  of  the  Faringfields,  that  he  was  obliged  to 
give  a  full  account  of  himself,  and  so  went  on. 
"  She  didn't  know  what  else  to  do  about  me,  sir, 
as  there  was  no  one  in  Philadelphia  —  that  is,  I 
mean,  she  remembered  what  a  friend  Mr.  Aitken 
was  to  my  father  —  they  were  both  of  Oxford,  sir; 
Magdalen  college.  And  so  at  last  she  thought  of 
sending  me  to  him,  that  he  might  get  me  a  place 
or  something ;  and  she  wrote  the  letter  to  tell  him 
who  I  was  ;  and  she  saw  to  it  that  I  should  have 
money  enough  to  come  to  New  York,  — " 

"  But  I  don't  understand,"  interrupted  Mr. 
Faringfield,  frowning  his  disapproval  of  some 
thing.  "  What  made  it  necessary  for  her  to 
dispose  of  you?  Was  she  going  to  marry  again?" 

"  She  was  going  to  die,  sir,"  replied  the  boy,  in  a 
reserved  tone  which,  despite  his  bashfulness,  both 


PHILIP'S  ARRIVAL   IN  NEW   YORK.  23 

showed  his  own  hurt,  and  rebuked  his  elder's 
thoughtless  question. 

"  Poor  boy !  "  whispered  Mrs.  Faringfield,  grasp 
ing  her  little  Tom's  hand. 

"  Oh,"  said  her  husband,  slowly,  slightly  awed 
from  his  sternness.  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  lad. 
I  am  very  sorry,  indeed.  Your  being  here,  then, 
means  that  you  are  now  an  orphan  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  was  the  boy's  only  answer,  and  he 
lowered  his  eyes  toward  his  kitten,  and  so  sad 
and  lonely  an  expression  came  into  his  face  that 
no  wonder  Mrs.  Faringfield  whispered  again,  "  Poor 
lad,"  and  even  Madge  and  little  Tom  looked  solemn. 

"Well,  boy,  something  must  be  done  about  you, 
that's  certain,"  said  Mr.  Faringfield.  "  You  have 
no  money,  my  daughter  says.  Spent  all  you  had 
for  cakes  and  kickshaws  in  the  towns  where  the 
stage-coach  stopped,  I'll  warrant." 

The  boy  smiled.  "  The  riding  made  me  hungry 
sir,"  said  he.  "  I'd  have  saved  my  extra  shilling  if 
I'd  known  how  it  was  going  to  be." 

"  But  is  there  nothing  coming  to  you  in  Phila 
delphia  ?  Did  your  mother  leave  nothing  ? " 

"  Everything  was  sold  at  auction  to  pay  our  debts 
—  it  took  the  books  and  our  furniture  and  all,  to  do 
that." 

"  The  books  ?  " 

"  We  kept  a  book-shop,  sir.     My  father  left  it  to 


24  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

us.  He  was  a  bookseller,  but  he  was  a  gentleman 
and  an  Oxford  man." 

"  And  he  didn't  make  a  fortune  at  the  book 
trade,  eh?" 

"  No,  sir.  I've  heard  people  say  he  would  rather 
read  his  books  than  sell  them." 

"  From  your  studious  look  I  should  say  you  took 
after  him." 

"  I  do  like  to  read,  sir,"  the  lad  admitted  quietly, 
smiling  again. 

Here  Madge  put  in,  with  the  very  belated  query  : 

"  What's  your  name  ?  " 

"  Philip  Winwood,"  the  boy  answered,  looking  at 
her  pleasantly. 

"Well,  Master  Winwood,"  said  Madge's  father, 
"we  shall  have  to  take  you  in  overnight,  at  least, 
and  then  see  what's  to  be  done." 

At  this  Mrs.  Faringfield  said  hastily,  with  a  touch 
of  alarm  : 

"  But,  my  dear,  is  it  quite  safe  ?  The  child  might 
—  might  have  the  measles  or  something,  you  know." 

Madge  tittered  openly,  and  Philip  Winwood  looked 
puzzled.  Mr.  Faringfield  answered  : 

"  One  can  see  he  is  a  healthy  lad,  and  cleanly, 
though  he  is  tired  and  dusty  from  his  journey.  He 
may  occupy  the  end  garret  room.  '  Tis  an  odd 
travelling  companion  you  carry,  my  boy.  Did  you 
bring  the  cat  from  Philadelphia  ? " 


PHILIP'S  ARRIVAL  IN  NEW  YORK.  2$ 

"  Yes,  sir ;  my  mother  was  fond  of  it,  and  I  didn't 
like  to  leave  it  behind." 

The  kitten  drew  back  from  the  stately  gentleman's 
attempt  to  tap  its  nose  with  his  finger,  and  evinced  a 
desire  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  his  wife,  toward 
whom  it  put  forth  its  head  as  far  as  possible  out  of 
its  basket,  beginning  the  while  to  purr. 

"  Look,  mamma,  it  wants  to  come  to  you,"  cried 
little  Tom,  delighted. 

"  Cats  and  dogs  always  make  friends  quicker  with 
handsome  people,"  said  Philip  Winwood,  with  no 
other  intent  than  merely  to  utter  a  fact,  of  which 
those  who  observe  the  lower  animals  are  well  aware. 

"There,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Faringfield,  "there's 
a  compliment  for  you  at  my  expense." 

The  lady,  who  had  laughed  to  conceal  her  pleasure 
at  so  innocent  a  tribute,  now  freely  caressed  the 
kitten  ;  of  which  she  had  been  shy  before,  as  if  it 
also  might  have  the  measles. 

"Well,  Philip,"  she  said,  a  moment  later,  "come 
in,  and  feel  that  you  are  at  home.  You'll  have  just 
time  to  wash,  and  brush  the  dust  off,  before  supper. 
He  shall  occupy  the  second  spare  chamber,  William," 
she  added,  turning  to  her  husband.  "  How  could  you 
think  of  sending  so  nice  and  good-looking  a  lad  to  the 
garret  ?  Leave  your  travelling-bag  here,  child ;  the 
servants  shall  carry  it  in  for  you." 

"  This   is   so    kind  of  you,  ma'am,  and  sir,"  said 


26  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

Philip,  with  a  lump  in  his  throat ;  and  able  to  speak 
his  gratitude  the  less,  because  he  felt  it  the  more. 

"  I  am  the  one  you  ought  to  thank,"  said  Madge 
archly,  thus  calling  forth  a  reproving  "  Margaret !  " 
from  her  mother,  and  an  embarrassed  smile  —  part 
amusement,  part  thanks,  part  admiration  -  -  from 
Philip.  The  smile  so  pleased  Madge,  that  she  gave 
one  in  return  and  then  actually  dropped  her  eyes. 

I  saw  with  a  pang  that  the  newcomer  was  already 
in  love  with  her,  and  I  knew  that  the  novelty  of  his 
adoration  would  make  her  oblivious  of  my  existence 
for  at  least  a  week  to  come.  But  I  bore  him  no 
malice,  and  as  the  Faringfields  turned  toward  the 
rear  veranda  of  the  house,  I  said  : 

"  Come  and  play  with  me  whenever  you  like. 
That's  where  I  live,  next  door.  My  name  is  Herbert 
Russell,  but  they  call  me  Bert,  for  short." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Winwood,  and  was  just  about 
to  go  down  the  garden  walk  between  Madge  and 
little  Tom,  when  the  whole  party  was  stopped  by  a 
faint  boo-hooing,  in  a  soft  and  timid  voice,  a  short 
distance  up  the  street. 

"'Tis  Fanny,"  cried  Mrs.  Faringfield,  affrightedly, 
and  ran  out  from  the  garden  to  the  street. 

"Ned  has  been  bullying  her,"  said  Madge,  anger 
suddenly  firing  her  pretty  face.  And  she,  too,  was 
in  the  street  in  a  moment,  followed  by  all  of  us, 
Philip  Winwood  joining  with  a  ready  boyish  curiosity 


PHILIP'S  ARRIVAL   IN  NEW   YORK.  2? 

and  interest    in  what  concerned  his    new   acquaint 
ances. 

Sure  enough,  it  was  Fanny  Faringfield,  Madge's 
younger  sister,  coming  along  the  street,  her  knuckles 
in  her  eyes,  the  tears  streaming  down  her  face  ;  and 
behind  her,  with  his  fists  in  his  coat  pockets,  and  his 
cruel,  sneering  laugh  on  his  bold,  handsome  face, 
came  Ned,  the  eldest  of  the  four  Faringfield  young 
ones.  He  and  Fanny  were  returning  from  a  chil 
dren's  afternoon  tea-party  at  the  Wilmots'  house  in 
William  Street,  from  which  entertainment  Madge  had 
stayed  away  because  she  had  had  another  quarrel 
with  Ned,  whom  she,  with  her  self-love  and  high 
spirit,  had  early  learned  to  hate  for  his  hectoring 
and  domineering  nature.  I  shared  Madge's  feeling 
there,  and  was  usually  at  daggers  drawn  with  Ned 
Faringfield  ;  for  I  never  would  take  any  man's  brow 
beating.  Doubtless  my  own  quickness  of  temper 
was  somewhat  to  blame.  I  know  that  it  got  me  into 
many  fights,  and  had,  in  fact,  kept  me  too  from  that 
afternoon's  tea,  I  being  then  not  on  speaking  terms 
with  one  of  the  Wilmot  boys.  As  for  Madge's  de 
testation  of  Ned,  she  made  up  for  it  by  her  love  of 
little  Tom,  who  then  and  always  deserved  it.  Tom 
was  a  true,  kind,  honest,  manly  fellow,  from  his 
cradle  to  that  sad  night  outside  the  Kingsbridge 
tavern.  Madge  loved  Fanny  too,  but  less  wholly. 
As  for  Fanny,  dear  girl,  she  loved  them  all,  even 


28  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

Ned,  to  whom  she  rendered  homage  and  obedience ; 
and  to  save  whom  from  their  father's  hard  wrath, 
she  now,  at  sight  of  us  all  issuing  from  the  gate 
way,  suddenly  stopped  crying  and  tried  to  look  as  if 
nothing  were  the  matter. 

Ned,  seeing  his  father,  paled  and  hesitated ;  but 
the  next  moment  came  swaggering  on,  his  face  show 
ing  a  curious  succession  of  fear,  defiance,  cringing, 
and  a  crafty  hope  of  lying  out  of  his  offence. 

It  was,  of  course,  the  very  thing  Fanny  did  to 
shield  him,  that  certainly  betrayed  him  ;  and  when 
I  knew  from  her  sudden  change  of  conduct  that  he 
was  indeed  to  blame,  I  would  gladly  have  attacked 
him,  despite  that  he  was  twelve  years  old  and  I  but 
ten.  But  I  dared  not  move  in  the  presence  of  our 
elders,  and  moreover  I  saw  at  once  Ned's  father 
would  deal  with  him  to  our  complete  satisfaction. 

"  Go  to  your  room,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Faringfield,  in 
his  sternest  tone,  looking  his  anger  out  of  eyes  as 
hard  as  steel.  This  meant  for  Master  Ned  no  supper, 
and  probably  much  worse. 

"Please,  sir,  I  didn't  do  anything,"  answered  Ned, 
with  ill-feigned  surprise.  "  She  fell  and  hurt  her 
arm." 

Fanny  did  not  deny  this,  but  she  was  no  liar,  and 
could  not  confirm  it.  So  she  looked  to  the  ground, 
and  clasped  her  left  wrist  with  her  right  hand.  But 
in  this  latter  movement  she  again  exposed  her 


PHILIP'S  ARRIVAL   IN  NEW   YORK.  29 

brother  by  the  very  means  she  took  to  protect  him  ; 
for  quick-seeing  Madge,  observing  the  action,  gently 
but  firmly  unclasped  the  younger  sister's  hand,  and 
so  disclosed  the  telltale  marks  of  Ned's  fingers  upon 
the  delicate  wrist,  by  squeezing  or  wrenching  which 
that  tyrant  had  evinced  his  brotherly  superiority. 

At  sight  of  this,  Mrs.  Faringfield  gave  a  low  cry 
of  horror  and  maternal  pity,  and  fell  to  caressing  the 
bruised  wrist ;  and  Madge,  raising  her  arm  girl-wise, 
began  to  rain  blows  on  her  brother,  which  fell  wher 
ever  they  might,  but  where  none  of  them  could  hurt. 
Her  father,  without  reproving  her,  drew  her  quietly 
back,  and  with  a  countenance  a  shade  darker  than 
before,  pointed  out  the  way  for  Ned  toward  the 
veranda  leading  to  the  rear  hall-door. 

With  a  vindictive  look,  and  pouting  lips,  Ned 
turned  his  steps  down  the  walk.  Just  then  he 
noticed  Philip  Winwood,  who  had  viewed  every 
detail  of  the  scene  with  wonder,  and  who  now 
regarded  Ned  with  a  kind  of  vaguely  disliking 
curiosity,  such  as  one  bestows  on  some  sinister- 
looking  strange  animal.  Philip's  look  was,  of  course, 
unconscious,  but  none  the  less  clearly  to  be  read  for 
that.  Ned  Faringfield,  pausing  on  his  way,  stared 
at  the  unknown  lad,  with  an  expression  of  insolent 
inquiry.  Not  daring  to  stay  for  questions,  but  ob 
serving  the  valise,  he  seemed  to  become  aware  that 
the  newcomer  was  an  already  accepted  guest  of  the 


30  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

house ;  and  he  thereupon  surveyed  Philip  a  moment, 
inwardly  measuring  him  as  a  possible  comrade  or 
antagonist,  but  affecting  a  kind  of  disdain.  A  look 
from  his  father  ended  Ned's  inspection,  and  sent  him 
hastily  toward  his  imprisonment,  whither  he  went 
with  no  one's  pity  but  Fanny's  —  for  his  mother  had 
become  afraid  of  him,  and  little  Tom  took  his  likes 
and  dislikes  from  his  sister  Madge. 

And  so  they  went  in  to  supper,  disappearing  from 
my  sight  behind  the  corner  of  the  parlour  wing 
as  they  mounted  the  rear  veranda :  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Faringfield  first,  the  mother  leading  Fanny  by  the 
wounded  wrist ;  the  big  dog  next,  wagging  his  tail 
for  no  particular  reason ;  and  then  Philip  Winwood, 
with  his  cat  in  his  basket,  Madge  at  one  side  of  him 
and  pretending  an  interest  in  the  kitten  while  from 
beneath  her  lashes  she  alertly  watched  the  boy  him 
self,  little  Tom  on  the  other  side  holding  Philip's 
hand.  I  stood  at  the  gateway,  looking  after ;  and 
with  all  my  young  infatuation  for  Madge,  I  had  no 
feeling  but  one  of  liking,  for  this  quiet,  strange  lad, 
with  the  pale,  kind  face.  And  I  would  to  God  I 
might  see  those  three  still  walking  together,  as  when 
children,  through  this  life  that  has  dealt  so  strangely 
with  them  all  since  that  Summer  evening. 


CHAPTER   II. 

The  Faringfields. 

HAVING  shown  how  Philip  Winwood  came  among 
us,  I  ought  to  tell  at  once,  though  of  course  I  learned 
it  from  him  afterwards,  all  that  need  be  known  of 
his  previous  life.  His  father,  after  leaving  Oxford 
and  studying  medicine  in  Edinburgh,  had  married 
a  lady  of  the  latter  city,  and  emigrated  to  Phila 
delphia  to  practise  as  a  physician.  But  whether 
'twas  that  the  Quaker  metropolis  was  overstocked 
with  doctors  even  then,  or  for  other  reasons,  there 
was  little  call  for  Doctor  Winwood's  ministrations. 
Moreover,  he  was  of  so  book-loving  a  disposition 
that  if  he  happened  to  have  sat  down  to  a  favourite 
volume,  and  a  request  came  for  his  services,  it  irked 
him  exceedingly  to  respond.  This  being  noticed  and 
getting  abroad,  did  not  help  him  in  his  profession. 

The  birth  of  Philip  adding  to  the  doctor's  ex 
penses,  it  soon  came  about  that,  in  the  land  where 
he  had  hoped  to  make  a  new  fortune,  he  parted  with 
the  last  of  what  fortune  he  had  originally  possessed. 
Then  occurred  to  him  the  ingenious  thought  of 

3* 


32  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

turning  bookseller,  a  business  which,  far  from  re 
quiring  that  he  should  ever  absent  himself  from  his 
precious  volumes,  demanded  rather  that  he  should 
always  be  among  them.  But  the  stock  that  he  laid 
in,  turned  out  to  comprise  rather  such  works  as  a 
gentleman  of  learning  would  choose  for  company, 
than  such  as  the  people  of  Philadelphia  preferred  to 
read.  Furthermore,  when  some  would-be  purchaser 
appeared,  it  often  happened  that  the  book  he  offered 
to  buy  was  one  for  which  the  erudite  dealer  had 
acquired  so  strong  an  affection  that  he  would  not  let 
it  change  owners.  Nor  did  his  wife  much  endeavour 
to  turn  him  from  this  untradesmanlike  course.  Be 
sides  being  a  gentle  and  affectionate  woman,  she  had 
that  admiration  for  learning  which,  like  excessive 
warmth  of  heart  and  certain  other  traits,  I  have 
observed  to  be  common  between  the  Scotch  (she 
was  of  Edinburgh,  as  I  have  said)  and  the  best  of 
the  Americans. 

Such  was  Philip's  father,  and  when  he  died  of 
some  trouble  of  the  heart,  there  was  nothing  for  his 
widow  to  do  but  continue  the  business.  She  did 
this  with  more  success  than  the  doctor  had  had, 
though  many  a  time  it  smote  her  heart  to  sell  some 
book  of  those  that  her  husband  had  loved,  and  to  the 
backs  of  which  she  had  become  attached  for  his  sake 
and  through  years  of  acquaintance.  But  the  neces 
sities  of  her  little  boy  and  herself  cried  out,  and  so 


THE  FARINGFIELDS.  33 

did  the  debt  her  husband  had  accumulated  as  tangible 
result  of  his  business  career.  By  providing  books 
of  a  less  scholarly,  more  popular  character,  such  as 
novels,  sermons,  plays,  comic  ballads,  religious  poems, 
and  the  like  ;  as  well  as  by  working  with  her  needle, 
and  sometimes  copying  legal  and  other  documents, 
Mrs.  Winwood  managed  to  keep  the  kettle  boiling. 
And  in  the  bookselling  and  the  copying,  she  soon 
came  to  have  the  aid  of  Philip. 

The  boy,  too,  loved  books  passionately,  finding  in 
them  consolation  for  the  deprivations  incidental  to 
his  poverty.  But,  being  keenly  sympathetic,  he  had 
a  better  sense  of  his  mother's  necessities  than  his 
father  had  shown,  and  to  the  amelioration  of  her 
condition  and  his  own,  he  sacrificed  his  love  of  books 
so  far  as  to  be,  when  occasion  offered,  an  uncom 
plaining  seller  of  those  he  liked,  and  a  dealer  in  those 
he  did  not  like.  His  tastes  were,  however,  broader 
than  his  father's,  and  he  joyfully  lost  himself  in  the 
novels  and  plays  his  father  would  have  disdained. 

He  read,  indeed,  everything  he  could  put  his 
hands  on,  that  had,  to  his  mind,  reason,  or  wit,  or 
sense,  or  beauty.  Many  years  later,  when  we  were 
in  London,  his  scholarly  yet  modest  exposition  of  a 
certain  subject  eliciting  the  praise  of  a  group  in  a 
Pall  Mall  tavern,  and  he  being  asked  "  What  univer 
sity  he  was  of,"  he  answered,  with  a  playful  smile, 
"My  father's  bookshop."  It  was,  indeed,  his  main 


34  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

school  of  book-learning.  But,  as  I  afterward  told 
him,  he  had  studied  in  the  university  of  life  also. 
However,  I  am  now  writing  of  his  boyhood  in  Phila 
delphia  ;  and  of  that  there  is  only  this  left  to  be 
said. 

In  catering  to  his  mind,  he  did  not  neglect  bodily 
skill  either.  His  early  reading  of  Plutarch  and  other 
warlike  works  had  rilled  him  with  desire  to  emulate 
the  heroes  of  battle.  An  old  copy  of  Saviolo's  book 
on  honour  and  fence,  written  in  the  reign  of  Eliza 
beth,  or  James,  I  forget  which,  had  in  some  manner 
found  its  way  to  his  father's  shelves ;  and  from  this 
Philip  secretly  obtained  some  correct  ideas  of  swords 
manship.2  Putting  them  in  practice  one  day  in  the 
shop,  with  a  stick,  when  he  thought  no  one  was 
looking,  he  suddenly  heard  a  cry  of  "  bravo "  from 
the  street  door,  and  saw  he  was  observed  by  a 
Frenchman,  who  had  recently  set  up  in  Philadelphia 
as  a  teacher  of  fencing,  dancing,  and  riding.  This 
expert,  far  from  allowing  Philip  to  be  abashed,  com 
plimented  and  encouraged  him  ;  entered  the  shop, 
and  made  friends  with  him.  The  lad,  being  himself 
as  likable  as  he  found  the  lively  foreigner  interest 
ing,  became  in  time  something  of  a  comrade  to  the 
fencing  master.  The  end  of  this  was  that,  in  real 
or  pretended  return  for  the  loan  of  Saviolo's  book, 
the  Frenchman  gave  Philip  a  course  of  instruction 
and  practice  in  each  of  his  three  arts. 


THE  FARINGFIELDS.  35 

To  these  the  boy  added,  without  need  of  a  teacher, 
the  ability  to  shoot,  both  with  gun  and  with  pistol. 
I  suppose  it  was  from  being  so  much  with  his  mother, 
between  whom  and  himself  there  must  have  existed 
the  most  complete  devotion,  that  notwithstanding  his 
manly  and  scholarly  accomplishments,  his  heart, 
becoming  neither  tough  like  the  sportsman's  nor  dry 
like  the  bookworm's,  remained  as  tender  as  a  girl's 
—  or  rather  as  a  girl's  is  commonly  supposed  to  be. 
His  mother's  death,  due  to  some  inward  ailment  of 
which  the  nature  was  a  problem  to  the  doctors,  left 
him  saddened  but  too  young  to  be  embittered.  And 
this  was  the  Philip  Winwood  —  grave  and  shy  from 
having  been  deprived  too  much  of  the  company  of 
other  boys,  but  with  certain  mental  and  bodily  advan 
tages  of  which  too  much  of  that  company  would 
have  deprived  him  —  who  was  taken  into  the  house 
of  the  Faringfields  in  the  Summer  of  1763. 

The  footing  on  which  he  should  remain  there  was 
settled  the  very  morning  after  his  arrival.  Mr. 
Faringfield,  a  rigid  and  prudent  man,  but  never  a 
stingy  one,  made  employment  for  him  as  a  kind  of 
messenger  or  under  clerk  in  his  warehouse.  The 
boy  fell  gratefully  into  the  new  life,  passing  his  days 
in  and  about  the  little  counting-room  that  looked  out 
on  Mr.  Faringfield's  wharf  on  the  East  River.  He 
found  it  dull  work,  the  copying  of  invoices,  the 
writing  of  letters  to  merchants  in  other  parts  of 


36  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

the  world,  the  counting  of  articles  of  cargo,  and  often 
the  bearing  a  hand  in  loading  or  unloading  some 
schooner  or  dray ;  but  as  beggars  should  not  be 
choosers,  so  beneficiaries  should  not  be  complainers, 
and  Philip  kept  his  feelings  to  himself. 

Mr.  Faringfield  was  an  exacting  master,  whose 
rule  was  that  his  men  should  never  be  idle,  even  at 
times  when  there  seemed  nothing  to  do.  If  no  task 
was  at  hand,  they  should  seek  one  ;  and  if  none  could 
be  found,  he  was  like  to  manufacture  one.  Thus 
was  Phil  denied  the  pleasure  of  brightening  or  di 
versifying  his  day  with  reading,  for  which  he  could 
have  found  time  enough.  He  tried  to  be  interested 
in  his  work,  and  he  in  part  succeeded,  somewhat  by 
good-fellowship  with  the  jesting,  singing,  swearing 
wharfmen  and  sailors,  somewhat  by  dwelling  often 
on  the  thought  that  he  was  filling  his  small  place  in 
a  great  commerce  which  touched  so  distant  shores, 
and  so  many  countries,  of  the  world.  He  used  to 
watch  the  vessels  sail,  on  the  few  and  far-between 
days  when  there  were  departures,  and  wish,  with 
inward  sighs,  that  he  might  sail  with  them.  A  long 
ing  to  see  the  great  world,  the  Europe  of  history, 
the  Britain  of  his  ancestors,  had  been  implanted  in 
him  by  his  reading,  before  he  had  come  to  New 
York,  and  the  desire  was  but  intensified  by  his  daily 
contact  with  the  one  end  of  a  trade  whose  other  end 
lay  beyond  the  ocean. 


THE  FA  RING  FIELDS.  37 

Outside  of  the  hours  of  business,  Philip's  place 
was  that  of  a  member  of  the  Faringfield  household, 
where,  save  in  the  one  respect  that  after  his  first 
night  it  was  indeed  the  garret  room  that  fell  to  him, 
he  was  on  terms  of  equality  with  the  children.  Ned 
alone,  of  them  all,  affected  toward  him  the  man 
ner  of  a  superior  to  a  dependent.  Whatever  were 
Philip's  feelings  regarding  this  attitude  of  the  elder 
son,  he  kept  them  locked  within,  and  had  no  more 
to  say  to  Master  Ned  than  absolute  civility  required. 
With  the  two  girls  and  little  Tom,  and  with  me,  he 
was,  evenings  and  Sundays,  the  pleasantest  play 
fellow  in  the  world. 

Ungrudgingly  he  gave  up  to  us,  once  we  had 
made  the  overtures,  the  time  he  would  perhaps 
rather  have  spent  over  his  books  ;  for  he  had  brought 
a  few  of  these  from  Philadelphia,  a  fact  which  ac 
counted  for  the  exceeding  heaviness  of  his  travelling 
bag,  and  he  had  access,  of  course,  to  those  on  Mr. 
Faringfield's  shelves.  His  compliance  with  our  de 
mands  was  the  more  kind,  as  I  afterward  began  to 
see,  for  that  his  day's  work  often  left  him  quite  tired 
out.  Of  this  we  never  thought ;  we  were  full  of  the 
spirits  pent  up  all  day  at  school,  Madge  and  Fanny 
being  then  learners  at  the  feet  of  a  Boston  maiden 
lady  in  our  street,  while  I  yawned  and  idled  my 
hours  away  on  the  hard  benches  of  a  Dutch  school 
master  near  the  Broadway,  under  whom  Ned  Faring- 


38  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

field  also  was  a  student.  But  fresh  as  we  were,  and 
tired  as  Philip  was,  he  was  always  ready  for  a  romp 
in  our  back  yard,  or  a  game  of  hide-and-seek  in  the 
Faringfields'  gardens,  or  a  chase  all  the  way  over  to 
the  Bowling  Green,  or  all  the  way  up  to  the  Common 
where  the  town  ended  and  the  Bowery  lane  began. 

But  it  soon  came  out  that  Phil's  books  were  not 
neglected,  either.  The  speed  with  which  his  candles 
burnt  down,  and  required  renewal,  told  of  nocturnal 
studies  in  his  garret.  As  these  did  not  perceptibly 
interfere  with  his  activity  the  next  day,  they  were 
viewed  by  Mr.  Faringfield  rather  with  commendation 
than  otherwise,  and  so  were  allowed  to  continue. 
My  mother  thought  it  a  sin  that  no  one  interfered 
to  prevent  the  boy's  injuring  his  health  ;  but  when 
she  said  this  to  Phil  himself,  he  only  smiled  and 
answered  that  if  his  reading  did  cost  him  anything  of 
health,  'twas  only  fair  a  man  should  pay  something 
for  his  pleasures. 

My  mother's  interest  in  the  matter  arose  from  a 
real  liking.  She  saw  much  of  Philip,  for  he  and  the 
three  younger  Faringfields  were  as  often  about  our 
house  as  about  their  own.  Ours  was  not  nearly  as 
fine ;  'twas  a  white-painted  wooden  house,  like  those 
in  New  England,  but  roomy  enough  for  its  three 
only  occupants,  my  mother  and  me  and  the  maid. 
We  were  not  rich,  but  neither  were  we  of  the  poor 
est.  My  father,  the  predecessor  of  Mr.  Aitken  in 


THE  FARINGFIELDS.  39 

the  customs  office,  had  left  sufficient  money  in  the 
English  funds  at  his  death,  to  keep  us  in  the  decent 
circumstances  we  enjoyed,  and  there  was  yet  a  special 
fund  reserved  for  my  education.  So  we  could  be 
neighbourly  with  the  Faringfields,  and  were  so  ;  and 
so  all  of  us  children,  including  Philip,  were  as  much 
at  home  in  the  one  house  as  in  the  other. 

One  day,  in  the  Fall  of  that  year  of  Philip's  arri 
val,  we  young  ones  were  playing  puss-in-a-corner  in 
the  large  garden  —  half  orchard,  half  vegetable  plan 
tation —  that  formed  the  rear  of  the  Faringfields' 
grounds.  It  was  after  Phil's  working  hours,  and  a 
pleasant,  cool,  windy  evening.  The  maple  leaves 
were  yellowing,  the  oak  leaves  turning  red.  I  re 
member  how  the  wind  moved  the  apple-tree  boughs, 
and  the  yellow  corn-stalks  waiting  to  be  cut  and 
stacked  as  fodder.  (When  I  speak  of  corn,  I  do  not 
use  the  word  in  the  English  sense,  of  grain  in 
general,  but  in  the  American  sense,  meaning  maize, 
of  which  there  are  two  kinds,  the  sweet  kind  being 
most  delicious  to  eat,  as  either  kind  is  a  beautiful 
sight  when  standing  in  the  field,  the  tall  stalks  wav 
ing  their  many  arms  in  the  breeze.)  We  were  all 
laughing,  and  running  from  tree  to  tree,  when  in  from 
the  front  garden  came  Ned,  his  face  wearing  its 
familiar  cruel,  bullying,  spoil-sport  smile. 

The  wind  blowing  out  Madge's  brown  hair  as  she 
ran,  I  suppose  put  him  in  mind  of  what  to  do.  For  all 


40  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

at  once,  clapping  his  hand  to  his  mouth,  and  imitat 
ing  the  bellowing  war-whoop  of  an  Indian,  he  rushed 
upon  us  in  that  character,  caught  hold  of  Madge's 
hair,  and  made  off  as  if  to  drag  her  away  by  it. 
She,  screaming,  tried  to  resist,  but  of  course  could 
not  get  into  an  attitude  for  doing  so  while  he  pulled 
her  so  fast.  The  end  of  it  was,  that  she  lost  her  bal 
ance  and  fell,  thus  tearing  her  hair  from  his  grasp. 

I,  being  some  distance  away,  picked  up  an  apple 
and  flung  it  at  the  persecutor's  head,  which  I  missed 
by  half  an  inch.  Before  I  could  follow  the  apple, 
Philip  had  taken  the  work  out  of  my  hands. 

"You  are  a  savage,"  said  Phil,  in  a  low  voice,  but 
with  a  fiery  eye,  confronting  Ned  at  close  quarters. 

"  And  what  are  you  ?  "  replied  young  Faringfield 
promptly.  "  You're  a  beggar,  that's  what  you  are  ! 
A  beggar  that  my  father  took  in." 

For  a  moment  or  two  Phil  regarded  his  insulter  in 
amazed  silence  ;  then  answered  : 

"  If  only  you  weren't  her  brother !  " 

Here  Madge  spoke  up,  from  the  ground  on  which 
she  sat  : 

"  Oh,  don't  let  that  stop  you,  Phil !  " 

"  I  sha'n't,"  said  Phil,  with  sudden  decision,  and 
the  next  instant  the  astounded  Ned  was  recoiling 
from  a  solid  blow  between  the  eyes. 

Of  course  he  immediately  returned  the  compliment 
in  kind,  and  as  Ned  was  a  strong  fellow,  Phil  had  all 


THE  FARINGFIELDS,  4! 

he  could  do  to  hold  his  own  in  the  ensuing  scuffle. 
How  long  this  might  have  lasted,  I  don't  know,  had 
not  Fanny  run  between,  with  complete  disregard  of 
her  own  safety,  calling  out  : 

"  Oh,  Phil,  you  mustn't  hurt  Ned  !  " 

Her  interposition  being  aided  on  the  other  side  by 
little  Tom,  who  seized  Ned's  coat-tails  and  strove  to 
pull  him  away  from  injuring  Philip,  the  two  com 
batants,  their  boyish  belligerence  perhaps  having  had 
enough  for  the  time,  separated,  both  panting. 

"  I'll  have  it  out  with  you  yet ! "  said  Master 
Ned,  short-windedly,  adjusting  his  coat,  and  glaring 
savagely. 

"  All  right !  "  said  Phil,  equally  out  of  breath. 
Ned  then  left  the  field,  with  a  look  of  contempt 
for  the  company. 

After  that,  things  went  on  in  the  old  pleasant 
manner,  except  that  Ned,  without  any  overt  act  to 
precipitate  a  fight,  habitually  treated  Phil  with  a 
most  annoying  air  of  scorn  and  derision.  This, 
though  endured  silently,  was  certainly  most  exas 
perating. 

But  it  had  not  to  be  endured  much  of  the  time, 
for  Ned  had  grown  more  and  more  to  disdain  our 
society,  and  to  cultivate  companions  superior  to  us 
in  years  and  knowledge  of  the  world.  They  were, 
indeed,  a  smart,  trick-playing,  swearing  set,  who 
aped  their  elders  in  drinking,  dicing,  card-gam- 


42  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

bling,  and  even  in  wenching.  Their  zest  in  this 
imitation  was  the  greater  for  being  necessarily 
exercised  in  secret  corners,  and  for  their  freshness 
to  the  vices  they  affected. 

I  do  not  say  I  was  too  good  for  this  company  and 
their  practices  ;  or  that  Philip  was  either.  Indeed 
we  had  more  than  a  mere  glimpse  of  both,  for  boys, 
no  matter  how  studious  or  how  aspiring  in  the  long 
run,  will  see  what  life  they  can  ;  will  seek  the  taste 
of  forbidden  fruit,  and  will  go  looking  for  temptations 
to  yield  to.  Indeed,  the  higher  a  boy's  intelligence, 
the  more  eager  may  be  his  curiosity  for,  his  first  en 
joyment  of,  the  sins  as  well  as  the  other  pleasures. 
What  banished  us  —  Philip  and  me  —  from  Ned's 
particular  set  was,  first,  Ned's  enmity  toward  us ; 
second,  our  attachment  to  a  clan  of  boys  equally 
bent  on  playing  the  rake  in  secret,  though  of  better 
information  and  manners  than  Ned's  comrades  could 
boast  of ;  third,  Phil's  fondness  for  books,  and  mine 
for  him  ;  and  finally,  our  love  for  Madge. 

This  last  remained  unaltered  in  both  of  us.  As 
for  Madge,  as  I  had  predicted  to  myself,  she  had 
gradually  restored  me  to  my  old  place  in  her  con 
sideration  as  the  novelty  of  Philip's  newer  devotion 
had  worn  off.  We  seemed  now  to  be  equals  in  her 
esteem.  At  one  time  Phil  would  apparently  stand 
uppermost  there,  at  another  I  appeared  to  be  pre 
ferred.  But  this  alternating  superiority  was  usually 


THE  FARINGFIELDS.  43 

due  to  casual  circumstance.  Sometimes,  I  suppose, 
it  owed  itself  to  caprice ;  sometimes,  doubtless,  to 
deep  design  unsuspected  by  either  of  us.  Boys  are 
not  men  until  they  are  well  grown ;  but  women  are 
women  from  their  first  compliment.  On  the  whole, 
as  I  have  said,  Phil  and  I  were  very  even  rivals. 

It  was  sometime  in  the  winter  —  Philip's  first 
winter  with  the  Faringfields  —  that  the  next  out 
break  came,  between  him  and  Master  Edward.  If 
ever  the  broad  mansion  of  the  Faringfields  looked 
warm  and  welcoming,  it  was  in  midwinter.  The 
great  front  doorway,  with  its  fanlight  above,  and  its 
panel  windows  at  each  side,  through  which  the  light 
shone  during  the  long  evenings,  and  with  its  broad 
stone  steps  and  out-curving  iron  railings,  had  then 
its  most  hospitable  aspect.  One  evening  that  it 
looked  particularly  inviting  to  me,  was  when  Ned 
and  the  two  girls  and  I  were  returning  with  our 
skates  from  an  afternoon  spent  on  Beekman's  pond. 
Large  flakes  were  falling  softly  on  snow  already  laid. 
Darkness  had  caught  up  with  us  on  the  way  home, 
and  when  we  came  in  sight  of  the  cheery  light 
enframing  the  Faringfields'  wide  front  door,  and 
showing  also  from  the  windows  at  one  side,  I  was 
not  sorry  I  was  to  eat  supper  with  them  that  evening, 
my  mother  having  gone  sleighing  to  visit  the  Hurrays 
at  Incledon,  with  whom  she  was  to  pass  the  night. 
As  we  neared  the  door,  tired  and  hungry,  whom 


44  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

should  we  see  coming  toward  it  from  the  other 
direction  but  Philip  Win  wood.  He  had  worked  over 
the  usual  time  at  the  warehouse.  Before  the  girls 
or  I  could  exchange  halloes  with  Phil,  we  were  all 
startled  to  hear  Ned  call  out  to  him,  in  a  tone  even 
more  imperious  than  the  words  : 

"  Here,  you,  come  and  take  my  skates,  and  carry 
them  in,  and  tell  mother  I've  stopped  at  Jack  Van 
Cortlandt's  house  a  minute." 

And  he  stood  waiting  for  Phil  to  do  his  bidding. 
The  rest  of  us  halted,  also ;  while  Phil  stopped 
where  he  was,  looking  as  if  he  could  not  have  heard 
aright. 

"  Come,  are  you  deaf  ? "  cried  Ned,  impatiently. 
"  Do  as  you're  bid,  and  be  quick  about  it." 

Now,  of  course,  there  was  nothing  wrong  in  merely 
asking  a  comrade,  as  one  does  ask  a  comrade  such 
things,  to  carry  in  one's  skates  while  one  stopped  on 
the  way.  No  one  was  ever  readier  than  Phil  to  do 
such  little  offices,  or  great  ones  either.  Indeed,  it 
is  the  American  way  to  do  favours,  even  when  not 
requested,  and  even  to  inferiors.  I  have  seen  an 
American  gentleman  of  wealth  go  in  the  most  natural 
manner  to  the  assistance  of  his  own  servant  in  a  task 
that  seemed  to  overtax  the  latter,  and  think  nothing 
of  it.  But  in  the  case  I  am  relating ;  apart  from  the 
fact  that  I,  being  nearer  than  Phil,  was  the  proper 
one  of  whom  to  ask  the  favour ;  the  phrase  and 


THE   FARINGFIELDS.  45 

manner  were  those  of  a  master  to  a  servant ;  a  rough 
master  and  a  stupid  servant,  moreover.  And  so 
Philip,  after  a  moment,  merely  laughed,  and  went  on 
his  way  toward  the  door. 

At  this  Master  Ned  stepped  forward  with  the 
spirit  of  chastisement  in  his  eyes,  his  skates  held 
back  as  if  he  meant  to  strike  Phil  with  their  sharp 
blades.  But  it  happened  that  Philip  had  by  now 
mounted  the  first  door-step,  and  thus  stood  higher 
than  his  would-be  assailant.  So  Master  Ned  stopped 
just  out  of  Philip's  reach,  and  said  insolently : 

"  Tis  time  you  were  taught  your  place,  young 
fellow.  You're  one  of  my  father's  servants,  that's 
all ;  so  take  in  my  skates,  or  I'll  show  you." 

"You're  wrong  there,"  said  Phil,  with  forced 
quietness.  "  A  clerk  or  messenger,  in  business,  is 
not  a  personal  servant." 

"Take  in  these  skates,  or  I'll  brain  you  with 
'em  !  "  cried  Ned,  to  that. 

"  Come  on  and  brain  !  "  cried  Phil. 

"By  G — d,  I  will  that!  "  replied  Ned,  and  made 
to  swing  the  skates  around  by  the  straps.  But  his 
arm  was,  at  that  instant,  caught  in  a  powerful  grip, 
and,  turning  about  in  surprise,  he  looked  into  the 
hard,  cold  eyes  of  his  father,  who  had  come  up 
unseen,  having  stayed  at  the  warehouse  even  later 
than  Phil. 

"  If  any  blows  are  struck  here,  you  sha'n't  be  the 


46  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

one  to  strike  them,  sir,"  he  said  to  Ned.  "What's 
this  I  hear,  of  servants  ?  I'll  teach  you  once  for  all, 
young  man,  that  in  my  house  Philip  is  your  equal. 
Go  to  your  room  and  think  of  that  till  it  becomes 
fixed  in  your  mind." 

To  go  without  supper,  with  such  an  appetite,  on 
such  a  cold  night,  was  indeed  a  dreary  end  for  such 
a  day's  sport.  I,  who  knew  how  chilled  and  starved 
Ned  must  be,  really  pitied  him. 

But  instead  of  slinking  off  with  a  whimper,  he  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life  showed  signs  of  revolt. 

"What  if  I  don't  choose  to  go  to  my  room?" 
he  answered,  impudently,  to  our  utmost  amazement. 
"  You  may  prefer  an  outside  upstart  over  your  son, 
if  you  like,  but  you  can't  always  make  your  son  a 
prisoner  by  the  ordering." 

Mr.  Faringfield  showed  little  of  the  astonishment 
and  paternal  wrath  he  doubtless  felt.  He  gazed 
coldly  at  his  defiant  offspring  a  moment ;  then  took 
a  step  toward  him.  But  Ned,  with  the  agility  of 
boyhood,  turned  and  ran,  looking  back  as  he  went, 
and  stopping  only  when  he  was  at  a  safe  distance. 

"Come  back,"  called  his  father,  not  risking  his 
dignity  in  a  doubtful  pursuit,  but  using  such  a  tone 
that  few  would  dare  to  disobey  the  command. 

"  Suppose  I  don't  choose  to  come  back,"  answered 
Ned,  to  whose  head  the  very  devil  had  now  certainly 
mounted.  "  Maybe  there's  other  places  to  go  to, 


THE  FARINGFIELDS.  47 

where  one  doesn't  have  to  stand  by  and  see  an  up 
start  beggar  preferred  to  himself,  and  put  in  his  place, 
and  fed  on  the  best  while  he's  lying  hungry  in  his 
dark  room." 

"If  there's  another  place  for  you,  I'd  advise  you 
to  find  it,"  said  Mr.  Faringfield,  after  a  moment's 
reflection. 

"  Oh,  I'll  find  it,"  was  the  reply  ;  and  then  came 
what  Master  Ned  knew  would  be  the  crowning  taunt 
and  insult  to  his  father.  "  If  it  comes  to  the  worst, 
I  know  how  I  can  get  to  England,  where  I'd  rather 
be,  anyway." 

There  was  a  reason  why  Mr.  Faringfield's  face 
turned  dark  as  a  thunder-cloud  at  this.  You  must 
know,  first,  that  in  him  alone  was  embodied  the  third 
generation  of  colonial  Faringfields.  The  founder  of 
the  American  branch  of  the  family,  having  gone 
pretty  nearly  to  the  dogs  at  home,  and  got  into  close 
quarters  with  the  law,  received  from  his  people  the 
alternative  of  emigrating  to  Virginia  or  suffering  jus 
tice  to  take  its  course.  Tossing  up  his  last  sixpence, 
he  indifferently  observed,  on  its  coming  down,  that 
it  lay  in  favour  of  Virginia.  So  he  chose  emigration, 
and  was  shipped  off,  upon  condition  that  if  he  ever 
again  set  foot  in  England  he  should  be  forthwith 
turned  over  to  the  merciless  law.  His  relations,  as 
he  perceived,  cherished  the  hope  that  he  would  die 
of  a  fever  likely  to  be  caught  on  the  piece  of  marshy 


48  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

land  in  Virginia  which  they,  in  a  belief  that  it  was 
worthless,  had  made  over  to  him.  Pondering  on  this 
on  the  voyage,  and  perhaps  having  had  his  fill  of  the 
flesh  and  the  devil,  he  resolved  to  disappoint  his 
family.  And,  to  make  short  a  very  long  story  of 
resolution  and  toil,  he  did  so,  becoming  at  last  one 
of  the  richest  tobacco-planters  in  the  province. 

He  might  now  have  returned  to  England  with 
safety ;  but  his  resentment  against  the  people  who 
had  exiled  him  when  they  might  have  compounded 
with  justice  otherwise,  extended  even  to  their  coun 
try,  which  he  no  longer  called  his,  and  he  abode  still 
by  the  condition  of  his  emigration.  He  married  a 
woman  who  had  her  own  special  reasons  for  inimical 
feelings  toward  the  English  authorities,  which  any 
one  may  infer  who  is  familiar  with  one  phase  (though 
this  was  not  as  large  a  phase  as  English  writers  seem 
to  think)  of  the  peopling  of  Virginia.  Although  she 
turned  over  a  new  leaf  in  the  province,  and  seems  to 
have  been  a  model  wife  and  parent,  she  yet  retained 
a  sore  heart  against  the  mother  country.  The  feel 
ing  of  these  two  was  early  inculcated  into  the  minds 
of  their  children,  and  their  eldest  son,  in  whom  it 
amounted  almost  to  a  mania,  transmitted  it  on  to  his 
own  successor,  our  Mr.  Faringfield  of  Queen  Street. 

The  second  Faringfield  (father  of  ours),  being 
taken  with  a  desire  for  the  civilities  and  refinements 
of  a  town  life,  moved  from  Virginia  to  New  York, 


THE  FARINGFIELDS.  49 

married  there  a  very  worthy  lady  of  Dutch  patroon 
descent,  and,  retaining  his  Virginia  plantation,  gradu 
ally  extended  his  business,  so  that  he  died  a  general 
merchant,  with  a  European  and  a  West  Indian  trade, 
and  with  vessels  of  his  own.  He  it  was  that  built 
the  big  Faringfield  house  in  Queen  Street.  He  was 
of  an  aspiring  mind,  for  one  in  trade,  and  had  even  a 
leaning  toward  book-knowledge  and  the  ornaments 
of  life.  He  was,  moreover,  an  exceedingly  proud 
man,  as  if  a  haughty  way  were  needful  to  a  man  of 
business  and  an  American,  in  order  to  check  the  con 
tempt  with  which  he  might  be  treated  as  either.  His 
large  business,  his  pride,  his  unreasonable  hatred  of 
England  (which  he  never  saw),  and  a  very  fine  and 
imposing  appearance,  he  passed  down  to  our  Mr. 
Faringfield,  by  whom  all  these  inheritances  were 
increased.  This  gentleman,  sensible  of  the  injustice 
of  an  inherited  dislike  not  confirmed  by  experience, 
took  occasion  of  some  business  to  make  a  visit  to 
England,  shortly  after  his  father's  death.  I  believe 
he  called  upon  his  English  cousins,  now  some  degrees 
removed,  and,  finding  them  in  their  generation  igno 
rant  that  there  were  any  American  Faringfields,  was 
so  coldly  received  by  them,  as  well  as  by  the  men 
with  whom  his  business  brought  him  in  contact,  that 
he  returned  more  deeply  fixed  in  his  dislike,  and  with 
a  determination  that  no  Faringfield  under  his  control 
should  ever  again  breathe  the  air  of  the  mother 


50  PHILIP   WINWOOD. 

island.  He  even  chose  a  wife  of  French,  rather  than 
English,  descent ;  though,  indeed,  the  De  Lanceys, 
notwithstanding  they  were  Americans  of  Huguenot 
origin,  were  very  good  Englishmen,  as  the  issue 
proved  when  the  separation  came. 

Miss  De  Lancey,  however,  at  that  time,  had  no 
views  or  feelings  as  between  the  colonies  and  Eng 
land  ;  or  if  she  had  any,  scarcely  knew  what  they 
were.  She  was  a  pretty,  innocent,  small-minded 
woman ;  with  no  very  large  heart  either,  I  fancy ; 
and  without  force  of  character ;  sometimes  a  little 
shrewish  when  vexed,  and  occasionally  given  to  pro 
longed  whining  complaints,  which  often  won  the 
point  with  her  husband,  as  a  persistent  mosquito 
will  drive  a  man  from  a  field  whence  a  giant's 
blows  would  not  move  him.  She  heard  Mr.  Far- 
ingfield's  tirades  against  England,  with  neither  dis 
agreement  nor  assent ;  and  she  let  him  do  what  he 
could  to  instil  his  own  antagonism  into  the  chil 
dren.  How  he  succeeded,  or  failed,  will  appear 
in  time.  I  have  told  enough  to  show  why  Master 
Ned's  threatening  boast,  of  knowing  how  to  get 
to  England,  struck  his  father  like  a  blow  in  the 
face. 

I  looked  to  see  Mr.  Faringfield  now  stride  forth 
at  all  risk  and  inflict  upon  Master  Ned  some  chas 
tisement  inconceivable;  and  Ned  himself  took  a 
backward  step  or  two.  But  his  father,  after  a  mo- 


THE  FARINGFIELDS.  51 

ment  of  dark  glowering,  merely  answered,  though 
in  a  voice  somewhat  unsteady  with  anger : 

"  To  England  or  the  devil,  my  fine  lad,  before  ever 
you  enter  my  door,  until  you  change  your  tune  !  " 

Whereupon  he  motioned  the  rest  of  us  children  to 
follow  him  into  the  house,  leaving  his  eldest  son 
to  turn  and  trudge  defiantly  off  into  the  darkness. 
From  Ned's  manner  of  doing  this,  I  knew  that  he 
was  sure  of  shelter  for  that  night,  at  least.  Noah, 
the  old  black  servant,  having  seen  his  master  through 
the  panel  windows,  had  already  opened  the  door; 
and  so  we  went  in  to  the  warm,  candle-lit  hall,  Mr. 
Faringfield's  agitation  now  perfectly  under  control, 
and  his  anger  showing  not  at  all  upon  his  surface  of 
habitual  sternness. 

As  for  the  others,  Phil  walked  in  a  kind  of  deep, 
troubled  study,  into  which  he  had  been  thrown  by 
Ned's  words  regarding  him ;  I  was  awed  into  breath 
less  silence  and  a  mouse-like  tread  ;  and  kind  little 
Fanny  went  gently  sobbing  with  sorrow  and  fear  for 
her  unhappy  brother  —  a  sorrow  and  fear  not  shared 
in  the  least  degree  by  her  sister  Madge,  whose  face 
showed  triumphant  approval  of  her  father's  course 
and  of  the  outcome. 


CHAPTER   III. 

Wherein  'tis  Shown  that  Boys  Are  but  Boys. 

THE  Faringfield  house,  as  I  have  said,  was  flanked 
by  garden  space  on  either  side.  It  was  on  the  East 
ern  side  of  the  street,  and  so  faced  West,  the  next 
house  Southward  being  ours.  The  wide  hall  that 
we  entered  ran  straight  back  to  a  door  opening  from 
a  wooden  veranda  that  looked  toward  the  rear  gar 
den.  At  the  right  of  this  hall,  as  you  -went  in,  a 
broad  oak  stairway  invited  you  to  the  sleeping  floor 
above.  But  before  you  came  to  this  stairway,  you 
passed  a  door  that  gave  into  the  great  parlour,  which 
ran  the  whole  length  of  the  hall,  and,  being  used 
only  on  occasions  of  festivity  or  ceremony,  was  now 
closed  and  dark.  At  the  left  of  the  hall,  the  first 
door  led  to  the  smaller  parlour,  as  wide  but  not  as 
long  as  the  great  one,  and  in  daily  use  as  the  chief 
living-room  of  the  house.  Its  windows  were  those 
through  which  the  candle-light  within  had  welcomed 
us  from  the  frosty,  snowy  air  that  evening.  Behind 
this  parlour,  and  reached  either  directly  from  it,  or 
by  a  second  door  at  the  left  side  of  the  hall,  was 

52 


SOYS  ARE  BUT  BOYS.  53 

the  library,  so-called  although  a  single  case  of  eight 
shelves  sufficed  to  hold  all  the  books  it  contained. 
Yet  Philip  said  there  was  a  world  in  those  books. 
The  room  was  a  small  and  singularly  cosy  one,  and 
here,  when  Mr.  Faringfield  was  not  occupied  at  the 
mahogany  desk,  we  children  might  play  at  chess, 
draughts,  cards,  and  other  games.  From  this  room, 
one  went  back  into  the  dining-room,  another  apart 
ment  endeared  to  me  by  countless  pleasant  memories. 
Its  two  windows  looked  Southward  across  the  side 
grounds  (for  the  hall  and  great  parlour  came  not  so 
far  back)  to  our  house  and  garden.  Behind  the 
dining-room,  and  separating  it  from  the  kitchen  and 
pantry,  was  a  passage  with  a  back  stairway  and  with 
a  bench  of  washing-basins,  easily  supplied  with  water 
from  a  cistern  below,  and  from  the  kettle  in  the 
adjacent  kitchen.  To  this  place  we  youngsters  now 
hastened,  to  put  ourselves  to  rights  for  supper.  The 
house  was  carpeted  throughout.  The  great  parlour 
was  panelled  in  wood,  white  and  gold.  The  other 
chief  rooms  were  wainscoted  in  oak ;  and  as  to  their 
upper  walls,  some  were  bright  with  French  paper, 
while  some  shone  white  with  smooth  plaster ;  their 
ceilings  and  borders  were  decorated  with  arabesque 
woodwork.  There  were  tiled  fireplaces,  with  carved 
mantels,  white,  like  the  rectangular  window-frames 
and  panelled  doors.  Well,  well,  'twas  but  a  house 
like  countless  others,  and  why  should  I  so  closely 


54  PHILIP    IV IN  WOOD. 

describe  it  ?  —  save  that  I  love  the  memory  of  it,  and 
fain  would  linger  upon  its  commonest  details. 

Mighty  snug  was  the  dining-room  that  evening, 
with  its  oaken  sideboard,  its  prints  and  portraits  on 
the  wall,  its  sputtering  fire,  and  its  well-filled  table 
lighted  from  a  candelabrum  in  the  centre.  The  sharp 
odour  of  the  burning  pine  was  keen  to  the  nostrils, 
and  mingled  with  it  was  the  smell  of  the  fried  ham. 
There  was  the  softer  fragrance  of  the  corn  meal  mush 
or  porridge,  served  with  milk,  and  soft  was  the  taste 
of  it  also.  We  had  sausage  cakes,  too,  and  pancakes 
to  be  eaten  either  with  butter  or  with  the  syrup  of 
the  maple-tree  ;  and  jam,  and  jelly,  and  fruit  butter. 
These  things  seem  homely  fare,  no  doubt,  but  there 
was  a  skill  of  cookery  in  the  fat  old  negress,  Hannah 
—  a  skill  consisting  much  in  the  plentiful  use  of  salt 
and  pepper  at  proper  stages  —  that  would  have  given 
homelier  fare  a  relish  to  more  fastidious  tongues.  I 
miss  in  the  wholesome  but  limited  and  unseasoned 
diet  of  the  English  the  variety  and  savouriness  of 
American  food  (I  mean  the  food  of  the  well-to-do 
in  the  large  towns),  which  includes  all  the  English 
and  Scotch  dishes,  corrected  of  their  insipidity, 
besides  countless  dishes  French,  German,  and  Dutch, 
and  many  native  to  the  soil,  all  improved  and  diver 
sified  by  the  surprising  genius  for  cookery  which,  in 
so  few  generations,  the  negro  race  has  come  to  ex 
hibit.  I  was  a  busy  lad  at  that  meal ;  a  speechless 


BOYS  ARE   BUT  BOYS.  55 

one,  consequently,  and  for  some  minutes  so  engrossed 
in  the  business  of  my  jaws  that  I  did  not  heed  the 
unwonted  silence  of  the  rest.  Then  suddenly  it  came 
upon  me  as  something  embarrassing  and  painful  that 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Faringfield,  who  usually  conversed  at 
meals,  had  nothing  to  say,  and  that  Philip  Winwood 
sat  gloomy  and  taciturn,  merely  going  through  a 
hollow  form  of  eating.  As  for  Fanny,  she  was  the 
picture  of  childish  sorrow,  though  now  tearless.  Only 
Madge  and  little  Tom,  who  had  found  some  joke 
between  themselves,  occasionally  spluttered  with 
suppressed  laughter,  smiling  meanwhile  knowingly  at 
each  other. 

Of  course  this  depression  was  due  to  the  absence 
of  Ned,  regarding  the  cause  of  which  his  mother  was 
still  in  the  dark.  Not  missing  him  until  we  children 
had  filed  in  to  supper  after  tidying  up,  she  had 
then  remarked  that  he  was  not  yet  in. 

"  He  will  not  be  home  to  supper,"  Mr.  Faringfield 
had  replied,  in  a  tone  that  forbade  questioning  until 
the  pair  should  be  alone,  and  motioning  his  wife  to 
be  seated  at  the  table.  After  that  he  had  once  or 
twice  essayed  to  talk  upon  casual  subjects,  as  if  noth 
ing  had  happened,  but  he  had  perceived  that  the 
attempt  was  hopeless  while  Mrs.  Faringfield  remained 
in  her  state  of  deferred  curiosity  and  vague  alarm, 
and  so  he  had  desisted. 

After  supper,  which  the  lady's  impatience  made 


56  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

shorter  than  my  appetite  would  have  dictated,  the 
husband  and  wife  went  into  the  small  parlour,  closing 
the  door  upon  us  children  in  the  library.  Here  I 
managed  to  make  a  pleasant  evening,  in  games  with 
Madge  and  little  Tom  upon  the  floor.  But  Philip, 
though  he  came  in  as  was  his  wont,  was  not  to  be 
lured  into  our  play  or  our  talk.  He  did  not  even 
read,  but  sat  silent  and  pondering,  in  no  cheerful 
mood.  I,  not  reading  him  as  Madge  did,  knew  not 
what  the  matter  was,  and  accused  him  of  having 
vapours,  like  a  girl.  He  looked  at  me  heedlessly,  in 
reply,  as  if  he  scarce  heard.  But  Madge,  apparently, 
divined  his  feeling,  and  at  times  respected  it,  for  then 
she  spoke  low,  and  skilfully  won  me  back  from  my 
efforts  to  enliven  him.  At  other  times,  his  way  seemed 
to  irritate  her,  and  she  hinted  that  he  was  foolish,  and 
then  she  was  extraordinarily  smiling  and  adorable  to 
me  (always,  I  now  suspect,  with  the  corner  of  her 
eye  upon  him)  as  if  to  draw  him  back  to  his  usual 
good-fellowship  by  that  method.  But  'twas  in  vain. 
I  left  at  bedtime,  wondering  what  change  had  come 
over  him. 

That  night,  I  learned  afterward,  Philip  slept  little, 
debating  sorrowfully  in  his  mind.  He  kept  his 
window  slightly  open  at  night,  in  all  weather ;  and 
open  also  that  night  was  one  of  the  windows  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Faringfield's  great  chamber  below.  A 
sound  that  reached  him  in  the  small  hours,  of  Mrs. 


BOYS  ARE  BUT  BOYS.  57 

Faringfield  whimpering  and  weeping,  decided  him. 
And  the  next  morning,  after  another  silent  meal,  he 
contrived  to  fall  into  Mr.  Faringfield's  company  on 
the  way  to  the  warehouse,  which  they  had  almost 
reached  ere  Phil,  very  down  in  the  mouth  and  per 
turbed,  got  up  his  courage  to  his  unpleasant  task  and 
blundered  out  in  a  boyish,  frightened  way : 

"If  you  please,  sir,  I  wished  to  tell  you  —  I've 
made  up  my  mind  to  leave — and  thank  you  very 
much  for  all  your  kindness  !  " 

Mr.  Faringfield  stared  from  under  his  gathered 
brows,  and  asked  Phil  to  repeat  the  strange  thing  he 
had  said. 

"  Leave  what,  sir  ?  "  he  queried  sharply,  when  Phil 
had  done  so. 

"  Leave  your  warehouse,  sir ;  and  your  house ;  and 
New  York." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  my  boy  ? " 

And  Phil,  thankful  that  Mr.  Faringfield  had  paused 
to  have  the  talk  out  ere  they  should  come  among  the 
men  at  the  warehouse,  explained  at  first  in  vague 
terms,  but  finally  in  the  explicit  language  to  which 
his  benefactor's  questions  forced  him,  that  he  seemed, 
in  Master  Ned's  mind,  to  be  standing  in  Ned's  way ; 
that  he  would  not  for  the  world  appear  to  supplant 
any  man's  son,  much  less  the  son  of  one  who  had 
been  so  kind  to  him  ;  that  he  had  unintentionally 
been  the  cause  of  Ned's  departure  the  evening  before ; 


58  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

and  that  he  hoped  his  going  would  bring  Ned  back 
from  the  absence  which  caused  his  mother  grief. 
"  And  I  wouldn't  stay  in  New  York  after  leaving 
you,  sir,"  he  said,  "for  'twould  look  as  if  you  and  I 
had  disagreed." 

To  all  this  Mr.  Faringfield  replied  briefly  that  Ned 
was  a  foolish  boy,  and  would  soon  enough  come  back, 
glad  of  what  welcome  he  might  get  ;  and  that,  as  for 
Philip's  going  away,  it  was  simply  not  to  be  heard  of. 
But  Phil  persisted,  conceding  only  that  he  should 
remain  at  the  warehouse  for  an  hour  that  morning 
and  complete  a  task  he  had  left  unfinished.  Mr. 
Faringfield  still  refused  to  have  it  that  Phil  should 
go  at  all. 

When  Philip  had  done  his  hour's  work,  he  went 
in  to  his  employer's  office  to  say  good-bye. 

"Tut,  tut,"  said  Mr.  Faringfield,  looking  annoyed 
at  the  interruption,  "  there's  no  occasion  for  good 
byes.  But  look  you,  lad.  I  don't  mind  your  taking 
the  day  off,  to  put  yourself  into  a  reasonable  state 
of  mind.  Go  home,  and  enjoy  a  holiday,  and  come 
back  to  your  work  to-morrow,  fresh  and  cheerful. 
Now,  now,  boy,  I  won't  hear  any  more.  Only  do 
as  I  bid  you."  And  he  assumed  a  chilling  reserve 
that  indeed  froze  all  further  possible  discussion. 

"  But  I  do  say  good-bye,  sir,  and  mean  it,"  said 
Phil,  tremulously.  "  And  I  thank  you  from  my 
heart  for  all  you've  done  for  me." 


BOYS  ARE  BUT  BOYS.  59 

And  so,  with  a  lump  in  his  throat,  Phil  hastened 
home,  and  sped  up  the  stairs  unseen,  like  a  ghost ; 
and  had  all  his  things  out  on  his  bed  for  packing, 
when  suddenly  Madge,  who  had  been  astonished  to 
hear  him  moving  about,  from  her  mother's  room 
below,  flung  open  his  door  and  looked  in  upon  him, 
all  amazed. 

"Why,  Phil,  what  are  you  doing  home  at  this 
hour  ?  What  are  you  putting  your  things  into  your 
valise  for  ? " 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  said  Phil,  very  downcast. 

"  Why,  it  looks  as  if  —  you  were  going  away 
somewhere." 

Phil  made  a  brief  answer ;  and  then  there  was 
a  long  talk,  all  the  while  he  continued  to  pack  his 
goods,  in  his  perturbation  stowing  things  together 
in  strange  juxtaposition.  The  end  of  it  was  that 
Madge,  after  vowing  that  if  he  went  she  would  never 
speak  to  him  again,  and  would  hate  him  for  ever, 
indignantly  left  him  to  himself.  Phil  went  on  pack 
ing,  in  all  the  outward  calmness  he  could  muster, 
though  I'll  wager  with  a  very  pouting  and  dismal 
countenance.  At  last,  his  possessions  being  bestowed, 
and  the  bag  fastened  with  much  physical  exertion,  he 
left  it  on  the  bed,  and  slipped  down-stairs  to  find  his 
one  remaining  piece  of  property.  Philip's  cat  had 
waxed  plump  in  the  Faringfield  household,  Master 
Ned  always  deterred  from  harming  it  by  the  knowl- 


6O  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

edge  that  if  aught  ill  befell  it,  the  finger  of  accusation 
would  point  instantly  and  surely  at  him. 

Phil  was  returning  up  the  stairs,  his  pet  under  his 
arm,  when  Mistress  Madge  reappeared  before  him, 
with  magic  unexpectedness,  from  a  doorway  opening 
on  a  landing.  As  she  stood  in  his  way  there,  he 
stopped,  and  the  two  faced  each  other. 

"Well,"  said  she,  with  sarcastic  bitterness,  "I 
suppose  you've  decided  where  you're  going  to." 

"  Not  yet,"  he  replied.  He  had  thought  vaguely 
of  Philadelphia  or  Boston,  either  of  which  he  now 
had  means  of  reaching,  having  saved  most  of  his 
small  salary  at  the  warehouse,  for  he  was  not  a 
bound  apprentice. 

"  I  make  no  doubt,"  she  went  on,  "  'twill  be  the 
farthest  place  you  can  find." 

Phil  gave  her  a  reproachful  look,  and  asked  where 
her  mother  and  the  children  were,  that  he  might  bid 
them  good-bye.  He  wondered,  indeed,  that  Madge 
had  not  told  her  mother  of  his  resolve,  for,  from  that 
lady's  not  seeking  him  at  once,  he  knew  that  she 
was  still  unaware  of  it.  He  little  guessed  that  'twas 
the  girl's  own  power  over  him  she  wished  to  test, 
and  that  she  would  not  enlist  her  mother's  persua 
sions  but  as  a  last  resource. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  replied  carelessly. 

"I  shall  look  for  them,"  said  Philip,  and  turned 
to  go  down-stairs  again. 


BOYS  ARE  BUT  BOYS.  6 1 

But  (though  how  could  a  boy  imagine  it  ?)  Miss 
Faringfield  would  not  have  it  that  his  yielding  should 
be  clue  to  her  mother,  if  it  could  be  achieved  as 
a  victory  for  herself.  So  she  stopped  him  with  a 
sudden  tremulous  "Oh,  Phil!"  and,  raising  her 
forearm  to  the  door-post,  hid  her  face  against  it, 
and  wept  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

Philip  had  never  before  known  her  to  shed  a  tear, 
and  this  new  spectacle,  in  a  second's  time,  took  all 
the  firmness  out  of  him. 

"Why,  Madge,  I  didn't  know  —  don't  cry, 
Madgie  —  " 

She  turned  swiftly,  without  looking  up,  and  her 
face,  still  in  a  shower  of  tears,  found  hiding  no  longer 
against  the  door-post,  but  against  Phil's  breast. 

"  Don't  cry,  Madgie  dear,  —  I  sha'n't  go  !  " 

She  raised  her  wet  face,  joy  sparkling  where  the 
lines  had  not  yet  lost  the  shape  of  grief  ;  and  Phil 
never  thought  to  ask  himself  how  much  of  her  pleas 
ure  was  for  his  not  going,  and  how  much  for  the 
evidence  given  of  her  feminine  power.  He  had 
presently  another  thing  to  consider,  a  not  very  pala 
table  dose  to  swallow — the  returning  to  the  ware 
house  and  telling  Mr.  Faringfield  of  his  change  of 
mind.  He  did  this  awkwardly  enough,  no  doubt, 
but  manfully  enough,  I'll  take  my  oath,  though  he 
always  said  he  felt  never  so  tamed  and  small  and 
ludicrous  in  his  life,  before  or  after. 


62  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

And  that  scene  upon  the  landing  is  the  last  pic 
ture,  but  one,  I  have  to  present  of  childhood  days, 
ere  I  hasten  over  the  period  that  brought  us  all  into 
our  twenties  and  to  strange,  eventful  times.  The 
one  remaining  sketch  is  of  an  unkempt,  bedraggled 
figure  that  I  saw  at  the  back  hall  door  of  the 
Faringfields  one  snowy  night  a  week  later,  when, 
for  some  reason  or  other,  I  was  out  late  in  our 
back  garden.  This  person,  instead  of  knocking 
at  the  door,  very  cautiously  tried  it  to  see  if  it 
would  open,  and,  finding  it  locked,  stood  timidly  back 
and  gazed  at  it  in  a  quandary.  Suspecting  mischief, 
I  went  to  the  paling  fence  that  separated  our  ground 
from  the  Faringfields',  and  called  out,  "  Who's 
that  ? " 

"  Hallo,  Bert !  "  came  in  a  very  conciliating  tone, 
low-spoken ;  and  then,  as  with  a  sudden  thought, 
"  Come  over  here,  will  you  ? " 

I  crossed  the  fence,  and  was  in  a  moment  at  the 
side  of  Master  Ned,  who  looked  exceedingly  the 
worse  for  wear,  in  face,  figure,  and  clothes. 

"  Look  here,"  said  he,  speaking  rapidly,  so  as  to 
prevent  my  touching  the  subject  of  his  return,  "  I 
want  to  sneak  in,  and  up-stairs  to  bed,  without  the 
old  man  seeing  me.  I  don't  just  like  to  meet  him 
till  to-morrow.  But  I  can't  sneak  in,  for  the  door's 
locked,  and  Noah  would  be  sure  to  tell  dad.  You 
knock,  and  when  they  let  you  in,  pretend  you  came 


BOYS  ARE  BUT  BOYS.  63 

to  play  with  the  kids  ;  and  whisper  Fanny  to  slip  out 
and  open  the  door  for  me." 

I  entered  readily  into  the  strategy,  as  a  boy  will, 
glad  of  Ned's  return  for  the  sake  of  Phil,  who  I  knew 
was  ill  at  ease  for  Ned's  absence  being  in  some  sense 
due  to  himself. 

Old  Noah  admitted  me  at  my  knock,  locked  the 
door  after  me,  and  sent  me  into  the  smaller  parlour, 
where  the  whole  family  happened  to  be.  When  I 
whispered  my  message  to  Fanny,  she  turned  so  many 
colours,  and  made  so  precipitately  for  the  entrance 
hall,  that  her  father  was  put  on  the  alert.  He  fol 
lowed  her  quietly  out,  just  in  time  to  see  a  very  shiv 
ering,  humble,  shamefaced  youth  step  in  from  the 
snowy  outer  night.  The  sight  of  his  father  turned 
Ned  cold  and  stiff  upon  the  threshold ;  but  all  the 
father  did  was  to  put  on  a  grim  look  of  contempt, 
and  say  : 

"  Well,  sir,  I  suppose  you've  changed  your  tune." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  penitent,  meekly,  and  there 
being  now  no  reason  for  secrecy  he  shambled  after 
his  father  into  the  parlour.  There,  after  his  mother's 
embrace,  he  grinned  sheepishly  upon  us  all.  Fanny 
was  quite  rejoiced,  and  so  was  little  Tom  till  the 
novelty  wore  off ;  while  Madge  greeted  the  prodigal 
good-humouredly  enough,  and  one  could  read  Phil's 
relief  and  forgiveness  on  his  smiling  face.  Master 
Ned,  grateful  for  an  easier  ordeal  than  he  had  feared, 


64  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

made  no  exception  against  Phil  in  the  somewhat 
sickly  amiability  he  had  for  all,  and  we  thought  that 
here  were  reconciliation  and  the  assurance  of  future 
peace. 

Ned's  home-coming  brought  trouble  in  its  train, 
as  indeed  did  his  every  reappearance  afterward.  It 
came  out  that  he  and  another  boy  —  the  one  in 
whose  house  he  had  found  refuge  on  the  night  of  his 
running  away  —  had  started  off  for  the  North  to  lead 
the  lives  of  hunters  and  trappers,  a  career  so  inviting 
that  they  could  not  wait  to  provide  a  sufficient  equip 
ment.  They  travelled  afoot  by  the  Albany  post- 
road,  soliciting  food  at  farmhouses,  passing  their 
nights  in  barns  ;  and  got  as  far  as  Tarrytown,  ere 
either  one  in  his  pride  would  admit  to  the  other, 
through  chattering  teeth,  that  he  had  had  his  fill  of 
snow  and  hunger  and  the  raw  winds  of  the  Hudson 
River.  So  footsore,  leg-weary,  empty,  and  frozen 
were  they  on  their  way  back,  that  they  helped  them 
selves  to  one  of  Jacob  Post's  horses,  near  the  Phil- 
ipse  manor-house  ;  and  not  daring  to  ride  into  town 
on  this  beast,  thoughtlessly  turned  it  loose  in  the 
Bowery  lane,  never  thinking  how  certainly  it  and 
they  could  be  traced  —  for  they  had  been  noticed  at 
Van  Cortlandt's,  again  at  Kingsbridge,  and  again  at 
the  Blue  Bell  tavern.  After  receiving  its  liberty,  the 
horse  had  been  seen  once,  galloping  toward  Turtle 
Bay,  and  never  again. 


BOYS  ARE  BUT  BOYS.  6$ 

So,  a  few  days  after  Ned's  reentrance  into  the 
bosom  of  his  family,  there  came  to  the  house  a 
constable,  of  our  own  town,  with  a  deputy  sent  by 
the  sheriff  of  Westchester  County,  wanting  Master 
Edward  Faringfield. 

Frightened  and  disgraced,  his  mother  sent  for  her 
husband  ;  and  for  the  sake  of  the  family  name,  Mr. 
Faringfield  adjusted  matters  by  the  payment  of  twice 
or  thrice  what  the  horse  was  worth.  Thus  the 
would-be  hunter  and  trapper  escaped  the  discom 
fort  and  shame  of  jail ;  though  by  his  father's  sen 
tence  he  underwent  a  fortnight's  detention  on  bread 
and  water  in  his  bedroom. 

That  was  the  first  fright  and  humiliation  that 
Master  Ned  brought  on  his  people ;  and  he  brought 
so  many  of  these  in  after  years,  that  the  time  came 
when  his  parents,  and  all,  were  rather  glad  than  sorry 
each  time  he  packed  off  again,  and  shuddered  rather 
than  rejoiced  when,  after  an  absence,  he  turned  up 
safe  and  healthy  as  ever,  with  his  old  hangdog  smile 
beneath  which  lurked  a  look  half-defiant,  half -injured. 
As  he  grew  older,  and  the  boy  in  him  made  room  for 
the  man,  there  was  less  of  the  smile,  less  injury, 
more  defiance. 

I  do  not  remember  how  many  years  it  was  after 
Philip's  coming  to  New  York,  that  our  Dutch  school 
master  went  the  way  of  all  flesh,  and  there  came  in 
his  place,  to  conduct  a  school  for  boys  only  and  in 


66  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

more  advanced  studies,  a  pedagogue  from  Philadel 
phia,  named  Cornelius.  He  was  of  American  birth, 
but  of  European  parentage,  whether  German  or  Dutch 
I  never  knew.  Certainly  he  had  learning,  and  much 
more  than  was  due  alone  to  his  having  gone  through 
the  college  at  Princeton  in  New  Jersey.  He  was  in 
the  early  twenties,  tall  and  robust,  with  a  large  round 
face,  and  with  these  peculiarities  :  that  his  hair,  eye 
brows,  and  lashes  were  perfectly  white,  his  eyes  of  a 
singularly  mild  blue,  his  skin  of  a  pinkish  tint  ;  that 
he  was  given  to  blushing  whenever  he  met  women 
or  strangers,  and  that  he  spoke  with  pedantic  pre- 
ciseness,  in  a  wondrously  low  voice.  But  despite  his 
bashfulness,  there  was  a  great  deal  in  the  man,  and 
when  an  emergency  rose  he  never  lacked  resource. 

He  it  was  to  whom  my  education,  and  Ned  Faring- 
field's,  was  entrusted,  while  the  girls  and  little  Tom 
still  strove  with  the  rudiments  in  the  dame-school. 
He  it  was  that  carried  us  to  the  portals  of  college ; 
and  I  carried  Philip  Winwood  thither  with  me,  by 
studying  my  lessons  with  him  in  the  evenings.  In 
many  things  he  was  far  beyond  Mr.  Cornelius's  high 
est  teaching ;  but  there  had  been  lapses  in  his  infor 
mation,  and  these  he  filled  up,  and  regulated  his 
knowledge  as  well,  through  accompanying  me  in  my 
progress.  And  he  continued  so  to  accompany  me, 
making  better  use  of  my  books  than  ever  I  made,  as 
I  went  through  the  King's  College  ;  and  that  is  the 


BOYS  ARE  BUT  BOYS.  6? 

way  in  which  Phil  Winwood  got  his  stock  of  learning 
eked  out,  and  put  in  due  shape  and  order. 

It  happened  that  Philip's  taste  fastened  upon  one 
subject  of  which  there  was  scarce  anything  to  be 
learned  by  keeping  pace  with  my  studies,  but  upon 
which  much  was  to  be  had  from  books  in  the  college 
library,  of  which  I  obtained  the  use  for  him.  It  was 
a  strange  subject  for  a  youth  to  take  up  at  that  time, 
or  any  time  since,  and  in  that  colonial  country  — 
architecture.  Yet  'twas  just  like  Phil  Winwood 
to  be  interested  in  something  that  all  around  him 
neglected  or  knew  nothing  about.  What  hope  an 
American  could  have  in  the  pursuit  of  an  art,  for 
which  the  very  rare  demands  in  his  country  were 
supplied  from  Europe,  and  which  indeed  languished 
the  world  over,  I  could  not  see. 

"Very  well,  then,"  said  Phil,  "'twill  be  worth 
while  trying  to  waken  this  sleeping  art,  and  to  find 
a  place  for  it  in  this  out-of-the-way  country.  I 
wouldn't  presume  to  attempt  new  forms,  to  be  sure  ; 
but  one  might  revive  some  old  ones,  and  maybe  try 
new  arrangements  of  them." 

"  Then  you  think  you'll  really  be  an  architect  ?  "  I 
asked. 

"  Why,  if  it's  possible.  'Faith,  I'm  not  so  young 
any  more  that  I  still  want  to  be  a  soldier,  or  a  sailor 
either.  One  thing,  'twill  take  years  of  study ;  I'll 
have  to  go  to  Europe  for  that," 


68  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

"  To  England  ?  " 

"First  of  all." 

"What  will  Mr.  Faringfield  say  to  that  ?  " 

"  He  will  not  mind  it  so  much  in  my  case.  I'm 
not  of  the  Faringfield  blood." 

"Egad,"  said  I,  "there's  some  of  the  Faringfield 
blood  hankers  for  a  sight  of  London." 

"  Whose  ?     Ned's  ?  " 

"No.     Margaret's." 

We  were  young  men  now,  and  she  would  not  let 
us  call  her  Madge  any  more.  What  I  had  said  was 
true.  She  had  not  grown  up  without  hearing  and 
reading  much  of  the  great  world  beyond  the  sea, 
and  wishing  she  might  have  her  taste  of  its  pleas 
ures.  She  first  showed  a  sense  of  her  deprivation  — 
for  it  was  a  deprivation  for  a  rich  man's  daughter 
—  when  she  finished  at  the  dame-school  and  we 
boys  entered  college.  Then  she  hinted,  very  cau 
tiously,  that  her  and  Fanny's  education  was  being 
neglected,  and  mentioned  certain  other  New  York 
gentlemen's  daughters,  who  had  been  sent  to  Eng 
land  to  boarding-schools. 

Delicately  as  she  did  this,  the  thought  that  his 
favourite  child  could  harbour  a  wish  that  involved 
going  to  England,  was  a  blow  to  Mr.  Faringfield. 
He  hastened  to  remove  all  cause  of  complaint  on 
the  score  of  defective  education.  He  arranged  that 
the  music  teacher,  who  gave  the  girls  their  lessons 


BOYS  ARE   BUT  BOYS.  69 

in  singing  and  in  playing  upon  the  harpsichord  and 
guitar,  should  teach  them  four  days  a  week  instead 
of  two.  He  engaged  Mr.  Cornelius  to  become  an 
inmate  of  his  house  and  to  give  them  tuition  out  of 
his  regular  school  hours.  He  paid  a  French  widow 
to  instruct  them  in  their  pronunciation,  their  book- 
French  and  grammar  being  acquired  under  Mr.  Cor 
nelius's  teaching.  And  so,  poor  girls,  they  got  only 
additional  work  for  Margaret's  pains.  But  both  of 
them  were  docile,  Fanny  because  it  was  her  nature 
to  be  so,  Margaret  because  she  had  taken  it  into  her 
head  to  become  an  accomplished  lady.  We  never 
guessed  her  dreams  and  ambitions  in  those  years, 
and  to  this  day  I  often  wonder  at  what  hour  in  her 
girlhood  the  set  design  took  possession  of  her,  that 
design  which  dominated  all  her  actions  when  we  so 
little  guessed  its  existence.  Besides  these  three 
instructors,  the  girls  had  their  dancing-master,  an 
Englishman  who  pretended  to  impart  not  only  the 
best-approved  steps  of  a  London  assembly-room,  but 
its  manners  and  graces  as  well. 

So  much  for  the  education  of  the  girls,  Philip,  and 
myself.  Ned  Faringfield's  was  interrupted  by  his 
expulsion  from  King's  for  gross  misconduct ;  and 
was  terminated  by  his  disgrace  at  Yale  College 
(whither  his  father  had  sent  him  in  vain  hope  that 
he  might  behave  better  away  from  home  and  more 
self-dependent)  for  beating  a  smaller  student  whom 


7<D  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

he  had  cheated  at  a  clandestine  game  of  cards.  His 
home-coming  on  this  occasion  was  followed  by  his 
being  packed  off  to  Virginia  to  play  at  superintending 
his  father's  tobacco  plantations.  Neglecting  this 
business  to  go  shooting  on  the  frontier,  he  got  a 
Scotch  Presbyterian  mountaineer's  daughter  into 
trouble ;  and  when  he  turned  up  again  at  the  door  in 
Queen  Street,  he  was  still  shaky  with  recollections 
of  the  mob  of  riflemen  that  had  chased  him  out  of 
Virginia.  That  piece  of  sport  cost  his  father  a  pretty 
penny,  and  resulted  in  a  place  being  got  for  Ned 
with  a  merchant  who  was  Mr.  Faringfield's  corre 
spondent  in  the  Barbadoes.  So  to  the  tropics  the 
young  gentleman  was  shipped,  with  sighs  of  relief 
at  his  embarkation,  and  —  I  have  no  doubt  —  with 
unuttered  prayers  that  he  might  not  show  his  face  in 
Queen  Street  for  a  long  time  to  come.  Already  he 
had  got  the  name,  in  the  family,  of  "  the  bad  shilling," 
for  his  always  coming  back  unlocked  for. 

How  different  was  his  younger  brother  !  —  no  longer 
"  little  Tom  "  (though  of  but  middle  height  and  slim 
build),  but  always  gay-hearted,  affectionate,  innocent, 
and  a  gentleman.  He  was  a  handsome  lad,  without 
and  within  —  yes,  "  lad  "  I  must  call  him,  for,  though  he 
came  to  manly  years,  he  always  seemed  a  boy  to  me. 
He  followed  in  our  steps,  in  his  time,  through  Mr. 
Cornelius's  school,  and  into  King's  College,  too,  but 
the  coming  of  the  war  cut  short  his  studies  there. 


BOYS  ARE   BUT  BOYS.  /I 

It  must  have  been  in  the  year  1772  —  I  remember 
Margaret  spoke  of  her  being  seventeen  years  old,  in 
which  case  I  was  nineteen  —  when  I  got  (and  speedily 
forgot)  my  first  glimpse  of  Margaret's  inmost  mind. 
We  were  at  the  play  —  for  New  York  had  had  a 
playhouse  ever  since  Mr.  Hallam  had  brought  thither 
his  company,  with  whom  the  great  Garrick  had  first 
appeared  in  London.  I  cannot  recall  what  the  piece 
was  that  night ;  but  I  know  it  must  have  been  a 
decent  one,  or  Margaret  would  not  have  been  allowed 
to  see  it ;  and  that  it  purported  to  set  forth  true 
scenes  of  fashionable  life  in  London.  At  one  side 
of  Margaret  her  mother  sat,  at  the  other  was  myself, 
and  I  think  I  was  that  time  their  only  escort. 

"  What  a  fright !  "  said  Margaret  in  my  ear,  as  one 
of  the  actresses  came  upon  the  stage  with  an  affected 
gait,  and  a  look  of  thinking  herself  mighty  fine  and 
irresistible.  "  'Tis  a  slander,  this." 

"  Of  whom  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Of  the  fine  ladies  these  poor  things  pretend  to 
represent." 

"  How  do  you  know  ? "  I  retorted,  for  I  was  some 
what  taken  with  the  actresses,  and  thought  to  avenge 
them  by  bringing  her  down  a  peg  or  two.  "  Have 
you  seen  so  much  of  London  fine  ladies  ? " 

"  No,  poor  me !  "  she  said  sorrowfully,  without  a 
bit  of  anger,  so  that  I  was  softened  in  a  trice.  "  But 
the  ladies  of  New  York,  even,  are  no  such  tawdry 


72  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

make-believes  as  this.  —  Heaven  knows,  I  would  give 
ten  years  of  life  for  a  sight  of  the  fine  world  of 
London  !  " 

She  was  looking  so  divine  at  that  moment,  that  I 
could  not  but  whisper  : 

"  You  would  see  nothing  finer  there  than  yourself." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  she  quickly  asked,  flashing 
her  eyes  upon  me  in  a  strange  way  that  called  for  a 
serious  answer. 

"Tis  the  God's  truth,"  I  said,  earnestly. 

For  a  moment  she  was  silent ;  then  she  whispered  : 

"  What  a  silly  whimsy  of  my  father,  his  hatred  of 
England !  Does  he  imagine  none  of  us  is  really 
ever  to  see  the  world  ?  —  That  reminds  me,  don't 
forget  the  Town  and  Country  Magazine  to-morrow." 

I  had  once  come  upon  a  copy  of  that  publication, 
which  reflected  the  high  life  of  England,  perhaps  too 
much  on  its  scandalous  side ;  and  had  shown  it  to 
Margaret.  Immediately  she  had  got  me  to  subscribe 
for  it,  and  to  pass  each  number  clandestinely  to  her. 
I,  delighted  to  do  her  a  favour,  and  to  have  a  secret 
with  her,  complied  joyously ;  and  obtained  for  her  as 
many  novels  and  plays  as  I  could,  as  well. 

Little  I  fancied  what  bee  I  thus  helped  to  keep 
buzzing  in  her  pretty  head,  which  she  now  carried 
with  all  the  alternate  imperiousness  and  graciousness 
of  confident  and  proven  beauty.  Little  I  divined  of 
feminine  dreams  of  conquest  in  larger  fields ;  or 


BOYS  ARE   BUT  BOYS.  73 

foresaw  of  dangerous  fruit  to  grow  from  seed  planted 
with  thoughtlessness.  To  my  mind,  nothing  of  harm 
or  evil  could  ensue  from  anything  done,  or  thought, 
in  our  happy  little  group.  To  my  eyes,  the  future 
could  be  only  radiant  and  triumphant.  For  I  was 
still  but  a  lad  at  heart,  and  to  think  as  I  did,  or  to  be 
thoughtless  as  I  was,  is  the  way  of  youth. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

How  Philip  and  I  Behaved  as  Rivals  in  Love. 

I  WAS  always  impatient,  and  restless  to  settle  un 
certainties.  One  fine  morning  in  the  Spring  of  1773, 
Philip  and  I  were  breaking  the  Sabbath  by  practising 
with  the  foils  in  our  back  garden.  Spite  of  all  the 
lessons  I  had  taken  from  an  English  fencing-master 
in  the  town,  Phil  was  still  my  superior  in  the  gentle 
manly  art.  After  a  bout,  on  this  sunshiny  morning, 
we  rested  upon  a  wooden  bench,  in  the  midst  of  a 
world  of  white  and  pink  and  green,  for  the  apple  and 
cherry  blossoms  were  out,  and  the  leaves  were  in  their 
first  freshness.  The  air  was  full  of  the  odour  of  lilacs 
and  honeysuckles.  Suddenly  the  matter  that  was  in 
my  mind  came  out. 

"  I  wish  you'd  tell  me  something,  Phil  —  though 
'tis  none  of  my  business,  — 

"Why,  man,  you're  welcome  to  anything  I  know." 

"Then,  is  there  aught  between  Margaret  and  you 
—  any  agreement  or  understanding,  I  mean  ?" 

Phil  smiled,  comprehending  me  thoroughly. 

"  No,  there's  nothing.  I'm  glad  you  asked.  It 
74 


PHILIP  AND   I  AS  RIVALS  IN  LOVE.  75 

shows  there's  no  promise  between  her  and  you, 
either." 

"  I  thought  you  and  I  ought  to  settle  it  between 
ourselves  about  —  Margaret.  Because  if  we  both  go 
on  letting  time  pass,  each  waiting  to  see  what  t'other 
will  do,  some  other  man  will  slip  in,  and  carry  off  the 
prize,  and  there  will  both  of  us  be,  out  in  the  cold." 

"  Oh,  there's  little  fear  of  that,"  said  Phil. 

"  Why,  the  fellows  are  all  coming  after  her.  She's 
far  the  finest  girl  in  town." 

"  But  you  see  how  she  treats  them,  all  alike  ;  looks 
down  on  them  all,  even  while  she's  pleasant  to  them  ; 
and  doesn't  lead  any  one  of  them  on  a  step  further 
than  the  rest." 

"Ay,  but  in  time  —  she's  eighteen  now,  you 
know." 

"  Why,  did  you  ever  try  to  imagine  her  regarding 
any  one  of  them  as  a  husband ;  as  a  companion  to 
live  with  day  after  day,  and  to  agree  with,  and  look  up 
to,  and  yield  to,  as  a  wife  does  ?  Just  fancy  Margaret 
accommodating  herself  to  the  everlasting  company  of 
Phil  Van  Cortlandt,  or  Jack  Cruger,  or  Bob  Living 
stone,  or  Harry  Golden,  or  Fred  Philipse,  or  Billy 
Skinner,  or  any  of  them." 

"I  know,"  said  I;  "but  many  a  girl  has  taken  a 
man  that  other  men  couldn't  see  anything  in." 

"  Ay,  the  women  have  a  way  of  their  own  of  judg 
ing  men  ;  or  perhaps  they  make  the  best  of  what  they 


76  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

can  get.  But  you  may  depend  on't,  Margaret  has 
too  clear  a  sight,  and  too  bright  a  mind,  and  thinks 
too  well  of  herself,  to  mate  with  an  uncouth  cub,  or 
a  stupid  dolt,  or  a  girlish  fop,  or  any  of  these  that 
hang  about  her." 

'Twas  not  Phil's  way  to  speak  ill  of  people,  but 
when  one  considered  men  in  comparison  with  Mar 
garet,  they  looked  indeed  very  crude  and  unworthy. 

"You  know,"  he  added,  "how  soon  she  tires  of 
any  one's  society." 

"But,"  said  I,  dubiously,  "if  none  of  them  has  a 
chance,  how  is  it  with  us  ? " 

"  Why,  'tis  well-proved  that  she  doesn't  tire  of  us. 
For  years  and  years,  she  has  had  us  about  her  every 
day,  and  has  been  content  with  our  society.  That 
shows  she  could  endure  us  to  be  always  near  her." 

It  was  true,  indeed.  And  I  should  explain  here 
that,  as  things  were  in  America  then,  and  with  Mr. 
Faringfield  and  Margaret,  neither  of  us  was  entirely 
ineligible  to  the  hand  of  so  rich  and  important  a  man's 
daughter  ;  although  the  town  would  not  have  likened 
our  chances  to  those  of  a  De  Lancey,  a  Livingstone, 
or  a  Philipse.  I  ought  to  have  said  before,  that  Philip 
was  now  of  promising  fortune.  He  had  risen  in  the 
employ  of  Mr.  Faringfield,  but,  more  than  that,  he 
had  invested  some  years'  savings  in  one  of  that  mer 
chant's  shipping  ventures,  and  had  reinvested  the 
profits,  always  upon  his  benefactor's  advice,  until 


PHILIP  AND   I  AS  RIVALS  IN  LOVE.  77 

now  his  independence  was  a  certain  thing.  If  he 
indeed  tried  architecture  and  it  failed  him  as  a  means 
of  livelihood,  he  might  at  any  time  fall  back  upon  his 
means  and  his  experience  as  a  merchant  adventurer. 
As  for  me,  I  also  was  a  beneficiary  of  Mr.  Faring- 
field's  mercantile  transactions  by  sea,  my  mother,  at 
his  hint,  having  drawn  out  some  money  from  the 
English  funds,  and  risked  it  with  him.  Furthermore, 
I  had  obtained  a  subordinate  post  in  the  customs 
office,  with  a  promise  of  sometime  succeeding  to  my 
father's  old  place,  and  the  certainty  of  remaining  in 
his  Majesty's  service  during  good  behaviour.  This 
meant  for  life,  for  I  had  now  learned  how  to  govern 
my  conduct,  having  schooled  myself,  for  the  sake  of 
my  mother's  peace  of  mind,  to  keep  out  of  trouble, 
often  against  my  natural  impulses.  Thus  both  Phil  and 
I  might  aspire  to  Margaret ;  and,  moreover,  'twas  like 
that  her  father  would  provide  well  for  her  if  she  found 
a  husband  to  his  approval.  It  did  not  then  occur  to 
me  that  my  employment  in  the  English  service  might 
be  against  me  in  Mr.  Faringfield's  eyes. 

"Then,"  said  I,  reaching  the  main  point  at  last, 
"  as  you  think  we  are  endurable  to  her  —  which  of  us 
shall  it  be?  " 

"Why,  that  question  is  for  her  to  settle,"  said 
Phil,  with  a  smile  half-amused,  half-surprised. 

"  But  she  will  have  to  be  asked.  So  which  of 
us—?" 


78  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

"  I  don't  think  it  matters,"  he  replied.  "  If  she 
prefers  one  of  us,  she  will  take  him  and  refuse  the 
other,  whether  he  ask  first  or  last." 

"  But  suppose  she  likes  us  equally.  In  that  case, 
might  not  the  first  asker  win,  merely  for  his  being 
first  ? " 

"  I  think  it  scarce  possible  but  that  in  her  heart 
she  must  favour  one  above  all  others,  though  she 
may  not  know  it  yet." 

"But  it  seems  to  me  —  " 

"'Faith,  Bert,  do  as  you  like,  I  sha'n't  say  nay,  or 
think  nay.  If  you  ask  her,  and  she  accepts  you,  I 
shall  be  sure  you  are  the  choice  of  her  heart.  But 
as  for  me,  I  have  often  thought  of  the  matter,  and 
this  is  what  I've  come  to  :  not  to  speak  to  her  of  it, 
until  by  some  hint  or  act  she  shows  her  preference." 

"  But  the  lady  must  not  make  the  first  step." 

"  Not  by  proposal  or  direct  word,  of  course  — 
though  I'll  wager  there  have  been  exceptions  to 
that ;  but  I've  read,  and  believe  from  what  I've  seen, 
that  'tis  oftenest  the  lady  that  gives  the  first  hint. 
No  doubt,  she  has  already  made  sure  of  the  gentle 
man's  feelings,  by  signs  he  doesn't  know  of.  If  a 
man  didn't  receive  some  leading  on  from  a  woman, 
how  would  he  dare  tell  her  his  mind  ?  —  for  if  he 
loves  her  he  must  dread  her  refusal,  or  scorn,  be 
yond  all  things.  However  that  be,  I've  seen,  in 
companies,  and  at  the  play,  and  even  in  church,  how 


PHILIP  AND  I  AS  RIVALS  IN  LOVE.  79 

girls  contrive  to  show  their  partiality  to  the  fellows 
they  prefer.  Why,  we've  both  had  it  happen  to  us, 
when  we  were  too  young  for  the  fancy  to  last.  And 
'tis  the  same,  I'll  wager,  when  the  girls  are  women, 
and  the  stronger  feeling  has  come,  the  kind  that 
lasts.  Be  sure  a  girl  as  clever  as  Margaret  will  find 
a  way  of  showing  it,  if  she  has  set  her  mind  on  either 
of  us.  And  so,  I'm  resolved  to  wait  for  some  sign 
from  her  before  I  speak." 

He  went  on  to  explain  that  this  course  would  pro 
long,  to  the  unfortunate  one,  the  possession  of  the 
pleasures  of  hope.  It  would  save  him,  and  Margaret, 
from  the  very  unpleasant  incident  of  a  rejection. 
Such  a  refusal  must  always  leave  behind  it  a  certain 
bitterness  in  the  memory,  that  will  touch  what  friend 
ship  remains  between  the  two  people  concerned. 
And  I  know  Philip's  wish  that,  though  he  might 
not  be  her  choice,  his  old  friendship  with  her  might 
continue  perfectly  unmarred,  was  what  influenced 
him  to  avoid  a  possible  scene  of  refusal. 

"  Then  I  shall  do  as  you  do,"  said  I,  "  and  if  I  see 
any  sign,  either  in  my  favour  or  yours,  be  sure  I'll 
tell  you." 

"  I  was  just  about  to  propose  that,"  said  Phil ;  and 
we  resumed  our  fencing. 

There  was,  in  our  plan,  nothing  to  hinder  either 
of  us  from  putting  his  best  foot  forward,  as  the 
saying  is,  and  making  himself  as  agreeable  to  the 


80  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

young  lady  as  he  could.  Indeed  that  was  the  quickest 
way  to  call  forth  the  indication  how  her  affections 
stood.  I  don't  think  Phil  took  any  pains  to  appear 
in  a  better  light  than  usual.  It  was  his  habit  to  be 
always  himself,  sincere,  gentle,  considerate,  and  never 
thrusting  forward.  He  had  acquired  with  his  growth 
a  playful  humour  with  which  to  trim  his  conversation, 
but  which  never  went  to  tiresome  lengths.  This 
was  all  the  more  taking  for  his  quiet  manner,  which 
held  one  where  noise  and  effort  failed.  But  I  exerted 
myself  to  be  mighty  gallant,  and  to  show  my  admira 
tion  and  wit  in  every  opportune  way. 

I  considered  that  Phil  and  I  were  evenly  matched 
in  the  rivalry  ;  for  when  a  young  fellow  loves  a  girl, 
be  she  ever  so  divine,  and  though  he  feel  in  his  heart 
that  she  is  too  good  for  him,  yet  he  will  believe  it  is 
in  him  to  win  her  grace.  If  he  think  his  self-known 
attractions  will  not  suffice,  he  will  trust  to  some 
possible  hidden  merits,  unperceived  by  himself  and 
the  world,  but  which  will  manifest  themselves  to  her 
sight  in  a  magical  manner  vouchsafed  to  lovers.  Or 
at  worst,  if  he  admit  himself  to  be  mean  and  unlikely, 
he  will  put  reliance  upon  woman's  caprice,  which,  as 
we  all  know,  often  makes  strange  selections.  As  for 
me,  I  took  myself  to  be  quite  a  conquering  fellow. 

In  looks,  'twas  my  opinion  that  Philip  and  I 
were  equally  gifted.  Phil  was  of  a  graceful,  slender 
figure ;  within  an  inch  of  six  feet,  I  should  say ;  with 


PHILIP  AND   I  AS  RIVALS  IN  LOVE.  8 1 

a  longish  face,  narrowing  from  the  forehead  down 
ward,  very  distinctly  outlined,  the  nose  a  little  curved, 
the  mouth  still  as  delicate  as  a  boy's.  Indeed  he 
always  retained  something  boyish  in  his  look,  for  all 
his  studiousness  and  thoughtfulness,  and  all  that 
came  later.  He  was  not  as  pale  as  in  boyhood,  the 
sea  breezes  that  swept  in  from  the  bay,  past  the 
wharves,  having  given  him  some  ruddiness.  His 
eyes,  I  have  said,  were  blue,  almost  of  a  colour  with 
Margaret's.  I  was  an  inch  or  two  shorter  than  Phil, 
my  build  was  more  heavy  and  full,  my  face  more  of 
an  equal  width,  my  nose  a  little  upturned  so  as  to 
give  me  an  impudent  look,  my  eyes  a  darkish  brown. 

That  I  was  not  Phil's  match  in  sense,  learning, 
talents,  self-command,  and  modesty,  did  not  occur  to 
me  as  lessening  my  chances  with  a  woman.  If  I 
lacked  real  wit,  I  had  pertness ;  and  I  thought  I  had 
a  manner  of  dashing  boldness,  that  must  do  one-half 
the  business  with  any  girl,  while  my  converse  trick 
of  softening  my  voice  and  eyes  to  her  on  occasion, 
would  do  the  other  half. 

But  Margaret  took  her  time  before  giving  a  hint 
of  her  heart's  condition.  She  was  the  same  old 
comrade  to  us,  she  confided  to  us  her  adverse  opinions 
of  other  people,  laughed  with  us,  and  often  at  us 
(when  it  was  like  as  not  that  she  herself  had  made 
us  ridiculous),  told  us  her  little  secrets,  let  us  share 
her  gaiety  and  her  dejection  alike,  teased  us,  soothed 


82  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

us,  made  us  serve  her,  and  played  the  spoiled  beauty 
with  us  to  the  full  of  the  part.  And  a  beauty  she 
was,  indeed ;  ten  times  more  than  in  her  childhood. 
The  bud  was  approaching  its  full  bloom.  She  was 
of  the  average  tallness  ;  slender  at  neck,  waist,  wrist, 
and  ankle,  but  filling  out  well  in  the  figure,  which 
had  such  curves  as  I  swear  I  never  saw  elsewhere 
upon  earth.  She  had  the  smallest  foot,  with  the 
highest  instep ;  such  as  one  gets  not  often  an  idea 
of  in  England.  Her  little  head,  with  its  ripples  of 
chestnut  hair,  sat  like  that  of  a  princess ;  and  her 
face,  oval  in  shape,  proud  and  soft  by  turns  in 
expression  —  I  have  no  way  of  conveying  the  impres 
sion  it  gave  one,  but  to  say  that  it  made  me  think 
of  a  nosegay  of  fresh,  flawless  roses,  white  and  red. 
Often,  by  candle-light,  especially  if  she  were  dressed 
for  a  ball,  or  sat  at  the  play,  I  would  liken  her  to 
some  animate  gem,  without  the  hardness  that  belongs 
to  real  precious  stones  ;  for  indeed  she  shone  like  a 
jewel,  thanks  to  the  lustre  of  her  eyes  in  artificial 
light.  Whether  from  humidity  or  some  quality  of 
their  substance,  I  do  not  know,  but  they  reflected 
the  rays  as  I  have  rarely  seen  eyes  do  ;  and  in  their 
luminosity  her  whole  face  seemed  to  have  part,  so 
that  her  presence  had  an  effect  of  warm  brilliancy 
that  lured  and  dazzled  you.  To  see  her  emerge 
from  the  darkness  of  the  Faringfield  coach,  or  from 
her  sedan-chair,  into  the  bright  light  of  open  door- 


PHILIP  AND   I  AS  RIVALS  IN  LOVE.  83 

ways  and  of  lanterns  held  by  servants,  was  to  hold 
your  breath  and  stand  with  lips  parted  in  admiration, 
until  she  made  you  feel  your  nothingness  by  a  haughty 
indifference  in  passing,  or  sent  you  glowing  to  the 
seventh  heaven  by  a  radiant  smile. 

While  we  were  waiting  for  the  heart  of  our  paragon 
to  reveal  itself,  life  in  Queen  Street  was  diversified, 
in  the  Fall  of  1773,  by  an  unexpected  visit. 

Mr.  Faringfield  and  Philip,  as  they  entered  the 
dining-room  one  evening  after  their  return  from 
the  warehouse,  observed  that  an  additional  place  had 
been  made  at  the  table.  Without  speaking,  the 
merchant  looked  inquiringly,  and  with  a  little  of 
apprehension,  at  his  lady. 

"  Ned  has  come  back,"  she  answered,  trying  to 
speak  as  if  this  were  quite  cheerful  news. 

Mr.  Faringfield's  face  darkened.  Then,  with  some 
sarcasm,  he  said  : 

"  He  did  not  go  out  of  his  way  to  stop  at  the 
warehouse  in  coming  from  the  landing." 

"  Why,  no  doubt  the  ship  did  not  anchor  near  our 
wharf.  He  came  by  the  Sophy  brig.  He  took  some 
tea,  and  changed  his  clothes,  and  went  out  to  meet 
a  fellow  passenger  at  the  coffee-house.  They  had 
some  business  together." 

"  Business  with  a  pack  of  cards,  I  make  no  doubt ; 
or  else  with  rum  or  madeira." 

'Twas  the  second  of  these  conjectures  that  turned 


84  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

out  right.  For  Mr.  Edward  did  not  come  home  in 
time  to  occupy  at  supper  the  place  that  had  been  set 
for  him.  When  he  did  appear,  he  said  he  had  already 
eaten.  Perhaps  it  was  to  strengthen  his  courage  for 
meeting  his  father,  that  he  had  imbibed  to  the  stage 
wherein  he  vilely  smelt  of  spirits  and  his  eyes  and 
face  were  flushed.  He  was  certainly  bold  enough 
when  he  received  his  father's  cold  greeting  in  the 
parlour,  about  nine  o'clock  at  night. 

"  And,  pray,  what  circumstance  gives  us  the  honour 
of  this  visit  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Faringfield,  not  dissembling 
his  disgust. 

"  Why,"  says  Mr.  Ned,  quite  undaunted,  and  drop 
ping  his  burly  form  into  an  armchair  with  an  air  of 
being  perfectly  at  home,  "  to  tell  the  truth,  'tis  a  hole, 
the  place  you  sent  me  to ;  a  very  hell-hole." 

"  By  what  arrangement  with  Mr.  Culverson  did 
you  leave  it  ? "  Mr.  Culverson  was  the  Barbadoes 
merchant  by  whom  Edward  had  been  employed. 

"  Culverson  !  "  echoed  Ned,  with  a  grin.  "  I  doubt 
there  was  little  love  lost  between  me  and  Culverson ! 
'  Culverson/  says  I,  '  the  place  is  a  hole,  and  the  next 
vessel  bound  for  New  York,  I  go  on  her.'  '  And  a 
damned  good  riddance ! '  says  Culverson  (begging 
your  pardon !  I'm  only  quoting  what  the  man 
said),  and  that  was  the  only  arrangement  I  remem 
ber  of." 

"And  so  that  you  are  here,  what  now?"  inquired 


PHILIP  AND  I  AS  RIVALS  IN  LOVE.  85 

Mr.  Faringfield,  looking  as  if  he  appreciated  Mr. 
Culverson's  sentiments. 

"Why,  sir,  as  for  that,  I  think  'tis  for  you  to  say." 

"  Indeed,  sir  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  seeing  that  I'm  your  son,  whom  you're 
bound  to  provide  for." 

"  You  are  twenty-two,  I  think,"  says  Mr.  Faring 
field. 

"  I  take  it,  a  few  paltry  years  more  or  less  don't 
alter  my  rights,  or  the  responsibilities  of  a  parent. 
Don't  think,  sir,  I  shall  stand  up  and  quietly  see 
myself  robbed  of  my  birthright.  I'm  no  longer  the 
man  to  play  the  Esek,  or  Esock,  or  whatever  — 

"  Esau,"  prompted  Fanny,  in  a  whisper. 

"  And  my  mouth  isn't  to  be  stopped  by  any  mess 
of  porridge." 

"  Pottage,"  corrected  Fanny. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Faringfield,  rising,  and  hold 
ing  himself  very  stiffly,  "  I'll  think  upon  it."  Where 
upon  he  went  into  the  library,  and  closed  the  door 
after  him. 

Tis  certain  that  he  had  both  the  strength  and  the 
inclination  to  chastise  his  son  for  these  insulting 
rum-incited  speeches,  and  to  cast  him  out  to  shift  for 
his  own  future  ;  instead  of  enduring  heedlessly  the 
former,  and  offering  to  consider  the  latter.  His 
strength  was  equal  to  his  pride,  and  he  was  no  colder 
without  than  he  was  passionate  within.  But  there 


86  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

was  one  thing  his  strength  of  mind  fell  short  of  fac 
ing,  and  that  was  the  disgrace  to  the  family,  which 
the  eldest  son  might  bring  were  he  turned  loose,  un 
provided  for,  in  New  York.  'Twas  the  fear  of  such 
disgrace  that  always  led  Mr.  Faringfield  to  send  Ned 
far  away ;  and  made  him  avoid  any  scene  of  violence 
which  the  youth,  now  that  he  was  a  man  and  grown 
bold,  might  precipitate  in  discussions  such  as  the 
father  had  but  now  cut  short. 

"Now  I  call  that  frigid,"  complained  Edward  to 
his  mother,  staring  at  the  door  behind  which  Mr. 
Faringfield  had  disappeared.  "  Here  was  I,  in  for  a 
pleasant  confab  with  my  father,  concerning  my  future  ; 
and  before  I  can  put  in  a  word,  out  he  flings,  and 
there's  an  end  of  it.  Tisn't  fatherly,  I  protest ! 
Well,  well,  I  might  have  known !  He  was  always 
stony-hearted  ;  never  would  discuss  matters.  That's 
the  gratitude  I  get  for  putting  the  case  to  him  in  a 
reasonable,  docile,  filial  fashion.  However,  he  said 
he'd  think  upon  it.  That  means  I  shall  stay  here, 
and  take  a  holiday,  till  he  makes  up  his  mind  where 
to  ship  me  to  next.  'Twon't  be  England,  I  fancy, 
mother.  I  wouldn't  object  to  France,  egad !  I 
could  learn  to  eat  frogs  as  soon  as  another  man,  if  it 
came  to  that.  Well,  I  need  a  holiday,  after  working  so 
hard  in  that  cursed  devil's  paradise  I've  just  come  from. 
I  suppose  I  can  depend  on  you  for  a  little  pocket- 
money,  ma'am,  till  dad  comes  to  a  conclusion  ?  " 


PHILIP  AND   I  AS  RIVALS  IN  LOVE,  87 

During  the  next  fortnight,  as  he  passed  most  of 
his  time  in  the  taverns  and  the  coffee-house,  save 
when  he  attended  horse-races  on  Long  Island,  or 
chased  foxes  upon  Tom's  horse,  or  lent  the  honour 
of  his  presence  to  cock-fights  ;  Mr.  Edward  found  his 
mother's  resources  inadequate  to  his  demands,  and 
so  levied  tribute  not  only  upon  Fanny  and  Tom  but 
also  upon  Mr.  Cornelius,  who  still  abode  in  the  Far- 
ingfield  house,  and  upon  Philip  Winwood.  To  Phil 
his  manner  was  more  than  civil ;  'twas  most  concili 
ating  and  flattering,  in  a  pleasantly  jocular  way. 

Ere  Mr.  Faringfield  had  announced  his  mind,  the 
visitor  had  worn  out  his  welcome  in  most  of  his 
tavern  haunts,  and  become  correspondingly  tired  of 
New  York.  One  evening,  as  Philip  was  leaving  the 
warehouse,  a  negro  boy  handed  him  a  note,  in  which 
Mr.  Ned  begged  him  to  come  immediately,  on  a  mat 
ter  of  importance,  to  the  King's  Arms  tavern.  There 
he  found  Edward  seated  at  a  small  table  in  a  corner 
of  the  tap-room.  Ned  would  have  it  that  Phil  should 
send  home  his  excuses,  by  the  negro,  and  sup  at  the 
tavern ;  which,  for  the  sake  of  peace,  though  unwill 
ingly,  Philip  finally  consented  to  do. 

Edward  was  drinking  rum,  in  a  kind  of  hot  punch 
of  his  own  mixing.  Phil,  though  fond  of  madeira  at 
home,  now  contented  himself  with  ale ;  and  the  two 
were  soon  at  work  upon  a  fried  chicken  prepared  in 
the  Maryland  fashion. 


88  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

"You  know,  Phil,"  says  Ned  at  last,  having  talked 
in  a  lively  strain  upon  a  multitude  of  matters,  none 
of  which  Philip  perceived  to  be  important,  "  'fore  gad, 
I  always  liked  you  !  'Tis  so,  as  the  Lord's  my  judge. 
Nay,  you  think  I  took  a  damned  odd  way  of  showing 
it.  But  we're  not  all  alike.  Now  look  you!  Hearken 
unto  me,  as  the  parson  says.  I  can  say  a  good  word 
for  you  in  a  certain  ear." 

"  Whose  ?  "  queried  Phil,  wondering  in  what  ear 
he  needed  a  good  word  said. 

"  Whose,  eh  ?  Now  whose  would  it  be  ?  Come, 
come,  Pll  speak  to  the  point.  Pm  no  man  for  pala 
ver.  'Tis  an  ear  you've  whispered  more  than  one 
sweet  thing  into,  I'll  warrant.  You're  young,  Philip, 
young :  you  think  you  can  fall  in  love  and  no 
body  find  it  out.  Why,  I  hadn't  been  landed  two 
hours,  and  asked  the  news,  when  I  was  told  that 
you  and  Bert  Russell  were  over  ears  in  love  with 
my  sister." 

Phil  merely  looked  his  astonishment. 

"  Now,  sir,  you  mayn't  think  it,"  says  Mr.  Ned, 
"  but  my  word  has  some  weight  with  Fanny." 

"  Fanny  ?  "  echoed  Philip.  "  What  has  she  to  do 
with  it  ? " 

"Why,  everything,  I  fancy.  The  lady  usually 
has  —  " 

"  But  Fanny  isn't  the  lady." 

"  What  ?     Then  who  the  devil  is  ? " 


PHILIP  AND   I  AS  RIVALS  IN  LOVE.  89 

"  I  don't  think  'tis  a  matter  need  be  talked  of 
now,"  said  Phil. 

"  But  I'd  like  to  know  —  'gad,  it  can't  be  the 
other  sister  !  Madge  —  that  spitfire  !  Well,  well ! 
Your  face  speaks,  if  your  tongue  won't.  Who'd 
have  thought  any  man  would  go  soft  over  such  a 
vixen  ?  Well,  I  can't  help  you  there,  my  lad  !  " 

"  I  haven't  asked  your  help,"  says  Phil  with  a 
smile. 

"Now,  it's  a  pity,"  says  Ned,  dolefully,  "for  I 
thought  by  doing  you  a  good  turn  I  might  get  you 
to  do  me  another." 

"  Oh,  I  see  !  Why,  then,  as  for  my  doing  you 
a  good  turn  if  it's  possible,  speak  out.  What  is  it  ? " 

"  Now,  I  call  that  noble  of  you,  Phil ;  damned 
noble!  I  do  need  a  good  turn,  and  that's  a  fact. 
You  see  I  didn't  tell  my  father  exactly  the  truth  as 
to  my  leaving  the  Barbadoes.  Not  that  I  don't  scorn 
a  lie,  but  I  was  considerate  of  the  old  gentleman's 
feelings.  I  couldn't  endure  to  shock  him  in  his  ten- 
derest  place.  You  understand  ?  " 

"  I  probably  shall  when  you've  finished." 

"Why,  I  dare  say  you  know  what  the  old  man's 
tenderest  place  is.  Well,  if  you  won't  answer,  'tis 
his  pride  in  the  family  name,  the  spotless  name  of 
Faringfield !  Oh.  I've  worked  upon  that  more  than 
once,  I  tell  you.  The  old  gentleman  will  do  much 
to  keep  ttr  name  without  a  blemish ;  I  could  always 


QO  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

bring  him  to  terms  by  threatening  to  disgrace 
it  —  " 

"  What  a  rascal  you've  been,  then !  " 

"Why,  maybe  so;  we're  not  all  saints.  But  I've 
always  kept  my  word  with  father,  and  whenever  he 
gave  me  the  money  I  wanted,  or  set  me  up  in  life 
again,  I  kept  the  name  clean  —  comparatively  clean, 
that  is  to  say,  as  far  as  any  one  in  New  York  might 
know.  And  even  this  time  —  at  the  Barbadoes  — 
'twasn't  with  any  purpose  of  punishing  father,  I 
vow ;  'twas  for  my  necessities,  I  made  myself  free 
with  a  thousand  pounds  of  Culverson's." 

"  The  devil !  Do  you  mean  you  embezzled  a 
thousand  pounds  ? " 

"  One  cool,  clean  thousand !  My  necessities,  I 
tell  you.  There  was  a  debt  of  honour,  you  must 
know;  a  damned  unlucky  run  at  the  cards,  and  the 
navy  officer  that  won  came  with  a  brace  of  pistols 
and  gave  me  two  days  in  which  to  pay.  And  then 
there  was  a  lady  —  with  a  brat,  confound  her!  —  to 
be  sent  to  England,  and  looked  after.  You  see, 
'twas  honour  moved  me  in  the  first  case,  and  chivalry 
in  the  second.  As  a  gentleman,  I  couldn't  with 
stand  the  promptings  of  noble  sentiments  like 
those." 

"  Well,  what  then  ?  " 

"  Why,  then  I  came  away.  And  I  hadn't  the  heart 
to  break  the  truth  to  father,  knowing  how  'twould 


PHILIP  AND   I  AS  RIVALS  IN  LOVE.  9! 

cut  him  up.  I  thought  of  the  old  gentleman's  family 
pride,  his  gray  hairs  —  his  hair  is  gray  by  this  time, 
isn't  it?  —  " 

"  And  what  is  it  you  wish  me  to  do  ? " 

"  Why,  you  see,  Culverson  hadn't  yet  found  out 
how  things  were,  when  I  left.  I  pretended  I  was 
ill  —  and  so  I  was,  in  a  way.  But  he  must  have 
found  out  by  this  time,  and  when  he  sends  after  me, 
by  the  next  vessel,  I'm  afraid  poor  father  will  have 
to  undergo  a  severe  trial  —  you  know  his  weakness 
for  the  honoured  name  of  Faringfield." 

"  By  the  Lord,  Ned,  this  is  worse  than  I  should 
ever  have  thought  of  you." 

"  It  is  a  bit  bad,  isn't  it  ?  And  I've  been  thinking 
what's  to  be  done  —  for  father's  sake,  you  know. 
If  'twere  broken  to  him  gently,  at  once,  as  nobody 
but  you  can  break  it,  why  then,  he  might  give  me 
the  money  to  repay  Culverson,  and  send  me  back 
to  Barbadoes  by  the  next  ship,  and  nothing  need 
ever  come  out.  I'm  thoroughly  penitent,  so  help 
me,  heaven,  and  quite  willing  to  go  back." 

"  And  incur  other  debts  of  honour,  and  obligations 
of  chivalry,"  says  Phil. 

"  I'll  see  the  cards  in  hell  first,  and  the  women 
too,  by  gad  !  "  whereat  Mr.  Edward  brought  his  fist 
down  upon  the  table  most  convincingly. 

He  thought  it  best  to  spend  that  night  at  the 
tavern  ;  whither  Phil  went  in  the  morning  with  news 


Q2  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

of  Mr.  Faringfield's  reception  of  the  disclosure.  The 
merchant  had  listened  with  a  countenance  as  cold 
as  a  statue's,  but  had  promptly  determined  to  make 
good  the  thousand  pounds  to  Mr.  Culverson,  and 
that  Ned  should  return  to  the  Barbadoes  without 
the  formality  of  bidding  the  family  farewell.  But  the 
money  was  to  be  entrusted  not  to  Mr.  Edward,  but 
to  Mr.  Faringfield's  old  clerk,  Palmer,  who  was  to  be 
the  young  man's  travelling  companion  on  the  South 
ward  voyage.  At  word  of  this  las"t  arrangement, 
Edward  showed  himself  a  little  put  out,  which  he 
told  Phil  was  on  account  of  his  father's  apparent  lack 
of  confidence.  But  he  meditated  awhile,  and  took 
on  a  more  cheerful  face. 

It  happened  —  and,  as  it  afterward  came  out,  his 
previous  knowledge  of  this  had  suggested  the  trick 
he  played  upon  Phil  and  Mr.  Faringfield  —  that,  the 
same  day  on  which  the  next  Barbadoes-bound  vessel 
sailed,  a  brig  left  port  for  England.  Both  vessels 
availed  themselves  of  the  same  tide  and  wind,  and 
so  went  down  the  bay  together. 

On  the  Barbadoes  vessel,  Ned  and  Mr.  Palmer 
were  to  share  the  same  cabin  ;  and  thither,  ere  the 
ship  was  well  out  of  the  East  River,  the  old  clerk 
accompanied  Ned  for  the  purpose  of  imbibing  a 
beverage  which  the  young  gentleman  protested  was 
an  unfailing  preventive  of  sea-sickness,  if  taken  in 
time.  Once  in  the  cabin,  and  the  door  being  closed, 


PHILIP  AND   I  AS  RIVALS  IN  LOVE.  93 

Mr.  Ned  adroitly  knocked  Palmer  down  with  a  blow 
from  behind ;  gagged,  bound,  and  robbed  him  of  the 
money,  and  left  him  to  his  devices.  Returning  to 
the  deck,  he  induced  the  captain  to  put  him,  by 
boat,  aboard  the  brig  bound  for  England,  which  was 
still  close  at  hand.  Taking  different  courses,  upon 
leaving  the  lower  bay,  the  two  vessels  were  soon  out 
of  hail,  and  that  before  the  discovery  of  the  much 
puzzled  Palmer's  condition  in  his  cabin. 

The  poor  old  man  had  to  go  to  the  Barbadoes,  and 
come  back  again,  before  a  word  of  this  event  reached 
the  ears  of  Mr.  Faringfield.  When  Palmer  returned 
with  his  account  of  it,  he  brought  word  from  Mr. 
Culverson  that,  although  Ned  had  indeed  settled  a 
gambling  debt  at  the  pistol's  point,  and  had  indeed 
paid  the  passage  of  a  woman  and  child  to  England, 
his  theft  had  been  of  less  than  a  hundred  pounds. 
Thus  it  was  made  manifest  that  Ned  had  lied  to 
Philip  in  order  to  play  upon  his  father's  solicitude 
concerning  the  name  of  Faringfield  for  integrity, 
and  so  get  into  his  hands  the  means  of  embarking 
upon  the  pleasures  of  the  Old  World.  Very  foolish 
did  poor  Philip  look  when  he  learned  how  he  had 
been  duped.  But  Mr.  Faringfield,  I  imagine,  con 
soled  himself  with  the  probability  that  New  York 
had  seen  the  last  of  Mr.  Edward. 

I  think  'twas  to  let  Mr.  Faringfield  recover  first 
from  the  feelings  of  this  occasion,  that  Philip  post- 


94  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

poned  so  long  the  announcement  of  his  intention  to 
go  to  England.  Thus  far  he  had  confided  his  plans 
to  me  alone,  and  as  a  secret.  But  now  he  was  past 
twenty-one  years,  and  his  resolution  could  not  much 
longer  be  deferred.  Nevertheless,  not  until  the  next 
June  —  that  of  1774  —  did  he  screw  up  his  courage 
to  the  point  of  action. 

"  I  shall  tell  him  to-day,"  said  Philip  to  me  one 
Monday  morning,  as  I  walked  with  him  part  of  the 
way  to  the  warehouses.  "  Pray  heaven  he  takes  it 
not  too  ill." 

I  did  not  see  Phil  at  dinner-time ;  but  in  the  after 
noon,  a  little  before  his  usual  home-coming  hour,  he 
came  seeking  me,  with  a  very  relieved  and  happy 
face ;  and  found  me  trimming  a  grape-vine  in  our 
back  garden,  near  the  palings  that  separated  our 
ground  from  Mr.  Faringfield's.  On  the  Faringfield 
side  of  the  fence,  at  this  place,  grew  bushes  of  snow 
ball  and  rose. 

"  How  did  he  take  it  ? "  I  asked,  smiling  to  see 
Phil's  eyes  so  bright. 

"Oh,  very  well.  He  made  no  objection;  said  he 
had  not  the  right  to  make  any  in  my  case.  But 
he  looked  so  upset  for  a  moment,  so  deserted  — 
I  suppose  he  was  thinking  how  his  own  son  had 
failed  him,  and  that  now  his  beneficiary  was  turn 
ing  from  him  —  that  I  wavered.  But  at  that  he  was 
the  same  haughty,  immovable  man  as  ever,  and  I 


PHILIP  AND   I  AS  RIVALS  IN  LOVE.  95 

remembered  that  each  of  us  must  live  his  own  life  ; 
and  so  'tis  settled." 

"Well,"  said  I,  with  a  little  of  envy  at  nls  pros 
pect,  and  much  of  sorrow  at  losing  him,  and  some 
wonder  about  another  matter,  "  I'm  glad  for  your 
sake,  though  you  may  imagine  how  I'll  miss  you. 
But  how  can  you  go  yet  ?  'Tis  like  leaving  the 
field  to  me  —  as  to  tier,  you  know."  I  motioned 
with  my  head  toward  the  Faringneld  house. 

"Why,"  he  replied,  as  we  both  sat  down  on  the 
wooden  bench,  "  as  I  shall  be  gone  years  when  I  do 
go,  Mr.  Faringfield  stipulated  only  that  I  should 
remain  with  him  here  another  year ;  and  I  was 
mighty  glad  he  did,  or  I  should  have  had  to  make 
that  offer.  'Twasn't  that  I  was  anxious  to  be  off 
so  soon,  that  made  me  tell  him  I  was  going ;  'twas 
that  in  harbouring  the  intention,  while  he  still  relied 
upon  my  remaining  always  with  him,  I  seemed  to 
be  guilty  of  a  kind  of  treachery.  As  for  —  her,  if 
she  gives  no  indication  within  a  year,  especially  when 
she  knows  I'm  going,  why,  'twill  be  high  time  to 
leave  the  field  to  you,  I  think." 

"  She  doesn't  know  yet  ? " 

"  No  ;  I  came  first  to  you.  Her  father  isn't  home 
yet." 

"  Well,  Phil,  there's  little  for  me  to  say.  You 
know  what  my  feelings  are.  After  all,  we  are  to 
have  you  for  a  year,  and  then  —  well,  I  hope  you 


96  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

may  become  the  greatest  architect  that  ever 
lived !  " 

"  Why,  now,  'tis  strange ;  you  remind  me  of  my 
reason  for  going.  Since  Mr.  Faringfield  gave  me 
his  sanction,  I  hadn't  thought  of  that.  I'm  afraid 
I've  been  something  of  a  hypocrite.  And  yet  I 
certainly  thought  my  desire  to  go  was  chiefly  on 
account  of  my  architectural  studies  ;  and  I  certainly 
intend  to  pursue  them,  too.  I  must  have  deceived 
myself  a  little,  though,  by  dwelling  on  that  reason  as 
one  that  would  prevail  with  Mr.  Faringfield  ;  one 
that  he  could  understand,  and  could  not  fairly 
oppose.  For,  hearkee,  all  the  way  home,  when  I 
looked  forward  to  the  future,  the  architectural  part 
of  it  was  not  in  my  head.  I  was  thinking  of  the 
famous  historic  places  I  should  see ;  the  places 
where  great  men  have  lived ;  the  birthplace  and 
grave  of  Shakespeare ;  the  palaces  where  great 
pageants  and  tragedies  have  been  enacted ;  the 
scenes  of  great  battles ;  the  abbey  where  so  many 
poets  and  kings  and  queens  are  buried  ;  the  Tower 
where  such  memorable  dramas  have  occurred ;  the 
castles  that  have  stood  since  the  days  of  chivalry ; 
and  Oxford ;  and  the  green  fields  of  England  that 
poets  have  written  of,  and  the  churchyard  of  Gray's 
Elegy ;  and  all  that  kind  of  thing." 

"  Ay,  and  something  of  the  gay  life  of  the  present, 
I'll  warrant,"  said  I,  with  a  smile;  "the  playhouses, 


"OUR     MOTIONS,     AS     WE     TOUCHED     OUR     LIPS     WITH     THEM, 
WERE    SO    IX    UNISON    THAT    MARGARET    LAUGHED." 


PHILIP  AND   I  AS  RIVALS  IN  LOVE.  97 

and  the  taverns,  and  the  parks,  and  Vauxhall,  and 
the  assembly-rooms ;  and  all  that  kind  of  thing." 

"  Why,  yes,  'tis  true.  And  I  wish  you  were  to  go 
with  me." 

"Alas,  I'm  tied  down  here.  Some  day,  per 
haps— 

"What  are  you  two  talking  of?"  The  interrup 
tion  came  in  a  soft,  clear,  musical  voice,  of  which 
the  instant  effect  was  to  make  us  both  start  up,  and 
turn  toward  the  fence,  with  hastened  hearts  and 
smiling  faces. 

Margaret  stood  erect,  looking  over  the  palings 
at  us,  backed  by  the  green  and  flowered  bushes 
through  which  she  and  Fanny  had  moved  noiselessly 
toward  the  fence  in  quest  of  nosegays  for  the  supper- 
table.  Fanny  stood  at  her  side,  and  both  smiled, 
Margaret  archly,  Fanny  pleasantly.  The  two  seemed 
of  one  race  with  the  flowers  about  them,  though 
Margaret's  radiant  beauty  far  outshone  the  more 
modest  charms  of  her  brown-eyed  younger  sister. 
The  elder  placed  her  gathered  flowers  on  the  upper 
rail  of  the  fence,  and  taking  two  roses,  one  in  each 
hand,  held  them  out  toward  us. 

We  grasped  each  his  rose  at  the  same  time,  and 
our  motions,  as  we  touched  our  lips  with  them,  were 
so  in  unison  that  Margaret  laughed. 

"And  what  were  you  talking  of  ?  "  says  she. 

"  Is  it  a  secret  any  longer  ?  "  I  asked  Philip. 


98  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

"No." 

"Then  we  were  talking  of  Phil's  going  to  Eng 
land,  to  be  a  great  architect." 

"  Going  to  England  !  "  She  looked  as  if  she  could 
not  have  rightly  understood. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  in  a  year  from  now,  to  stay,  the 
Lord  knows  how  long." 

She  turned  white,  then  red  ;  and  had  the  strangest 
look. 

"  Is  it  true  ? "  she  asked,  after  a  moment,  turning 
to  Phil. 

"  Yes.     I  am  to  go  next  June." 

"  But  father  —  does  he  know  ?  " 

"  I  told  him  this  afternoon.      He  is  willing." 

"  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure,"  she  said,  thoughtfully. 
"  He  has  no  authority  over  you.  Tis  different  with 
us.  Oh,  Phil,  if  you  could  only  take  me  with  you  !  " 
There  was  wistful  longing  and  petulant  complaint  in 
the  speech.  And  then,  as  Phil  answered,  an  idea 
seemed  to  come  to  her  all  at  once ;  and  she  to  rise 
to  it  by  its  possibility,  rather  than  to  fall  back  from 
its  audacity. 

"  I  would  gladly,"  said  he ;  "  but  your  father 
would  never  consent  that  a  Faringfield  - 

"Well,  one  need  not  always  be  a  Faringfield," 
she  replied,  looking  him  straight  in  the  face,  with  a 
kind  of  challenge  in  her  voice  and  eyes. 

"Why  —  perhaps   not,"  said    Phil,  for    the    mere 


PHILIP  AND   I  AS  RIVALS  IN  LOVE.  99 

sake  of  agreeing,  and  utterly  at  a  loss  as  to  her 
meaning. 

"  You  don't  understand,"  says  she.  "  A  father's 
authority  over  his  daughter  ceases  one  day." 

"  Ay,  no  doubt,"  says  Phil ;  "  when  she  becomes 
of  legal  age.  But  even  then,  without  her  father's 
consent  —  " 

"  Why,  now,"  she  interrupted,  "  suppose  her 
father's  authority  over  her  passed  to  somebody  else ; 
somebody  of  her  father's  own  preference  ;  somebody 
that  her  father  already  knew  was  going  to  England  : 
could  her  father  forbid  his  taking  her? " 

"  But,  'tis  impossible,"  replied  mystified  Phil. 
"  To  whom  in  the  world  would  your  father  pass  his 
authority  over  you  ?  He  is  hale  and  hearty  ;  there's 
not  the  least  occasion  for  a  guardian." 

"  Why,  fathers  do,  you  know." 

"  Upon  my  soul,  I  don't  see  — 

"  I  vow  you  don't !  You  are  the  blindest  fellow  ! 
Didn't  Polly  Livingstone's  father  give  up  his  authority 
over  her  the  other  day  —  to  Mr.  Ludlow  ?  " 

"Certainly,  to  her  husband." 

"  Well !  " 

"  Margaret  —  do  you  mean  —  ?  But  you  can't 
mean  that  ?  "  Phil  had  not  the  voice  to  say  more, 
emerging  so  suddenly  from  the  clouds  of  puzzlement 
to  the  yet  uncertain  sunshine  of  joy. 

"Why  shouldn't  I  mean  that  ?  "  says  she,  with  the 


100  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

prettiest  laugh,  which  made  her  bold  behaviour  seem 
the  most  natural,  feminine  act  imaginable.  "  Am  I 
not  good  enough  for  you  ?  " 

"  Madge  !  You're  not  joking,  are  you  ?  "  He 
caught  her  hands,  and  gazed  with  still  dubious  rapture 
at  her  across  the  fence. 

My  sensations  may  easily  be  imagined.  But  by 
the  time  she  had  assured  him  she  was  perfectly  in 
earnest,  I  had  taught  myself  to  act  the  man ;  and  so 
I  said,  playfully  : 

"Such  a  contract,  though  'tis  made  before  wit 
nesses,  surely  ought  to  be  sealed." 

Philip  took  my  hint ;  and  he  and  Margaret  laughed, 
and  stretched  arms  across  the  paling  tops ;  and  I  lost 
sight  of  their  faces.  I  sought  refuge  in  turning  to 
Fanny,  who  was  nearer  to  me  than  they  were.  To 
my  surprise,  she  was  watching  me  with  the  most 
kindly,  pitying  face  in  the  world.  Who  would  have 
thought  she  had  known  my  heart  regarding  her 
sister  ? 

"  Poor  Bert !  "  she  murmured  gently,  scarce  for 
my  hearing. 

And  I,  who  had  felt  very  solitary  the  moment 
before,  now  seemed  not  quite  so  lonely ;  and  I  con 
tinued  to  look  into  the  soft,  compassionate  eyes  of 
Fanny,  so  steadily  that  in  a  moment,  with  the  sweet 
est  of  blushes,  she  lowered  them  to  the  roses  in  her 
hand. 


CHAPTER  V. 

We  Hear  Startling  News,    Which   Brings  about  a 
Family  "  Scene." 

I  HAVE  characterised  Margaret's  behaviour  in  the 
matter  of  this  marriage  proposal  as  forward  ;  though 
I  have  admitted  that  it  scarce  looked  so,  so  graceful 
and  womanlike  was  her  manner  of  carrying  it  off, 
which  had  in  it  nothing  worse  than  the  privileged  air 
of  a  spoiled  beauty.  Now  that  writing  of  it  has  set 
me  thinking  of  it,  I  see  that  'twas  a  more  natural  act 
than  it  appears  in  the  cold  recital.  For  years  she 
had  been  our  queen,  and  Phil  and  I  her  humble  sub 
jects,  and  the  making  of  the  overtures  appeared  as 
proper  in  her,  as  it  would  have  seemed  presumption 
in  either  of  us.  And  over  Phil,  from  that  bygone 
day  when  she  had  gone  across  the  street  to  his  rescue, 
she  had  assumed  an  air  of  authority,  nay  of  proprietor 
ship,  that  bade  him  wait  upon  her  will  ere  ever  he 
acted  or  spoke.  And,  again,  though  out  of  considera 
tion  for  his  rival  he  had  been  purposely  silent  while 
awaiting  a  sign  from  her,  she  had  read  his  heart  from 
the  first.  His  every  look  and  tone  for  years  had 


IO2  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

been  an  unconscious  act  of  wooing,  and  so  when  she 
brought  matters  to  a  point  as  she  did,  'twas  on  her 
part  not  so  much  an  overture  as  a  consent.  As  for 
marriage  proposal  in  general,  all  men  with  whom  I 
have  discussed  it  have  confessed  their  own  scenes 
thereof  to  have  been,  in  the  mere  words,  quite  simple 
and  unpoetical,  whether  enacted  in  confusion  or  in 
confidence  ;  and  to  have  been  such  as  would  not  read 
at  all  finely  in  books. 

The  less  easy  ordeal  awaited  Philip,  of  asking  her 
father.  But  he  was  glad  this  stood  yet  in  his  way, 
and  that  'twas  not  easy  ;  for  'twould  make  upon  his 
courage  that  demand  which  every  man's  courage 
ought  to  undergo  in  such  an  affair,  and  which  Mar 
garet's  conduct  had  precluded  in  his  coming  to  an 
understanding  with  her. 

But  however  disquieting  the  task  was  to  approach, 
it  could  be  only  successful  at  the  end  ;  for  indeed 
Mr.  Faringfield,  with  all  his  external  frigidity,  could 
refuse  Phil  nothing.  In  giving  his  consent,  which 
perhaps  he  had  been  ready  to  do  long  before  Phil 
had  been  ready  to  ask  it,  he  made  no  allusion  to 
Phil's  going  to  England.  He  purposely  ignored  the 
circumstance,  I  fancy,  that  in  consenting  to  the 
marriage,  he  knowingly  opened  the  way  for  his 
daughter's  visiting  that  hated  country.  Doubtless 
the  late  conduct  of  Ned,  and  the  intended  defection 
of  Philip,  amicable  though  that  defection  was,  had 


WE   HEAR  STARTLING  NEWS.  1 03 

shaken  him  in  his  resolution  of  imposing  his  avoid 
ance  of  England  upon  his  family.  He  resigned  him 
self  to  the  inevitable ;  but  he  grew  more  taciturn, 
sank  deeper  into  himself,  became  more  icy  in  his 
manner,  than  ever. 

Philip  and  Margaret  were  married  in  February, 
four  months  before  the  time  set  for  their  departure. 
The  wedding  was  solemnised  in  Trinity  Church,  by 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Barclay,  on  one  of  those  white  days 
with  a  little  snow  in  the  air,  which  I  for  one  prefer 
over  sunny  days,  in  winter,  as  far  more  seasonable. 
The  young  gentlemen  of  the  town  wondered  that 
Miss  Faringfield  had  not  made  a  better  match  (as 
she  might  have  done,  of  course,  in  each  one's  secret 
opinion  by  choosing  himself).  The  young  ladies, 
though  some  of  them  may  have  regretted  the  sub 
traction  of  one  eligible  youth  from  their  matrimonial 
chances,  were  all  of  them  rejoiced  at  the  removal  of 
a  rival  who  had  hitherto  kept  the  eyes  of  a  score 
of  youths,  even  more  eligible,  turned  away  from 
them.  And  so  they  wished  her  well,  with  smiles 
the  most  genuine.  She  valued  not  a  finger-snap 
their  thoughts  or  their  congratulations.  She  had,  of 
late,  imperceptibly  moved  aloof  from  them.  Nor 
had  she  sought  the  attentions  of  the  young  gentle 
men.  'Twas  not  of  her  will  that  they  dangled.  In 
truth  she  no  longer  had  eyes  or  ears  for  the  small 
fashionable  world  of  New  York.  She  had  a  vastly 


IO4  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

greater  world  to  conquer,  and  disdained  to  trouble 
herself,  by  a  smile  or  a  glance,  for  the  admiration  of 
the  poor  little  world  around  her. 

All  her  thoughts  in  her  first  months  of  marriage 
—  and  these  were  very  pleasant  months  to  Philip,  so 
charming  and  sweet-tempered  was  his  bride  —  were 
of  the  anticipated  residence  in  England.  It  was  still 
settled  that  Philip  was  to  go  in  June ;  and  her  going 
with  him  was  now  daily  a  subject  of  talk  in  the 
family.  Mr.  Faringfield  himself  occasionally  men 
tioned  it ;  indifferently,  as  if  'twere  a  thing  to  which 
he  never  would  have  objected.  Margaret  used  some 
times  to  smile,  thinking  how  her  father  had  put  it 
out  of  his  power  to  oppose  her  wishes  :  first  by  his 
friendly  sanction  to  Phil's  going,  to  refuse  which  he 
had  not  the  right ;  and  then  by  his  consent  to  her 
marriage,  to  refuse  which  he  had  not  the  will. 

Naturally  Philip  took  pleasure  in  her  anticipations, 
supposing  that,  as  to  their  source  and  object,  they 
differed  not  from  his.  As  the  pair  were  so  soon  to 
go  abroad,  'twas  thought  unnecessary  to  set  up  in 
a  house  of  their  own  in  New  York,  and  so  they  made 
their  home  for  the  time  in  the  Faringfield  mansion, 
the  two  large  chambers  over  the  great  parlour  being 
allotted  to  them  ;  while  they  continued  to  share  the 
family  table,  save  that  Margaret  now  had  her  morning 
chocolate  abed. 

"  I  must  initiate  myself  into  London  ways,  dear," 


WE  HEAR   STARTLING   NEWS.  1 05 

she  said,  gaily,  when  Fanny  remarked  how  strange 
this  new  habit  was  in  a  girl  who  had  never  been 
indolent  or  given  to  late  rising. 

"  How  pretty  the  blue  brocaded  satin  is  !  "  quoth 
Fanny,  looking  at  one  of  Margaret's  new  gowns 
hanging  in  a  closet.  "  Why  didn't  you  wear  it  at 
the  Watts'  dinner  yesterday  ?  And  your  brown 
velvet  —  you've  not  had  it  on  since  it  came  from  the 
dressmaker's." 

"  I  shall  wear  them  in  London,"  says  Margaret. 

And  so  it  was  with  her  in  everything.  She  saved 
her  finest  clothes,  her  smiles,  her  very  interest  in 
life,  her  capacity  for  enjoyment,  all  for  London. 
And  Philip,  perceiving  her  indifference  to  the  out 
side  world,  her  new  equability  of  temper,  her  uniform 
softness  of  demeanour,  her  constant  meditative  half- 
smile  due  to  pleasurable  dreams  of  the  future,  read 
all  these  as  tokens  of  blissful  content  like  that  which 
glowed  in  his  own  heart.  And  he  was  supremely 
happy.  'Tis  well  for  a  man  to  have  two  months  of 
such  happiness,  to  balance  against  later  years  of  sor 
row  ;  but  sad  will  that  happiness  be  in  the  memory, 
if  it  owe  itself  to  the  person  to  whom  the  sorrow  in 
its  train  is  due. 

She  would  watch  for  him  at  the  window,  in  the 
afternoon,  when  he  came  home  from  the  ware 
house  ;  and  would  be  waiting  at  the  parlour  door  as 
he  entered  the  hall.  With  his  arm  about  her,  he 


106  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

would  lead  her  to  a  sofa,  and  they  would  sit  talking 
for  a  few  minutes  before  he  prepared  for  supper  — 
for  'twas  only  on  great  occasions  that  the  Faring- 
fields  dined  at   five  o'clock,   as  did   certain  wealthy 
New  York  families  who  followed  the  London  mode. 

"  I  am  so  perfectly,  entirely,  completely,  utterly 
happy  !  "  was  the  burden  of  Phil's  low-spoken  words. 

"  Fie ! "  said  Margaret,  playfully,  one  evening. 
"  You  must  not  be  perfectly  happy.  There  must  be 
some  cloud  in  the  sky ;  some  annoyance  in  business, 
or  such  trifle.  Perfect  happiness  is  dangerous,  mamma 
says.  It  can't  last.  It  forbodes  calamity  to  come. 
'Tis  an  old  belief,  and  she  vows  'tis  true." 

"Why,  my  poor  mother  held  that  belief,  too.  I 
fear  she  had  little  perfect  happiness  to  test  it  by ; 
but  she  had  calamities  enough.  And  Bert  Russell's 
mother  was  saying  the  same  thing  the  other  day. 
'Tis  a  delusion  common  to  mothers,  I  think.  I 
sha'n't  let  it  affect  my  felicity.  I  should  be  ungrate 
ful  to  call  my  contentment  less  than  perfect.  And 
if  calamity  comes,  'twill  not  be  owing  to  my  happiness." 

"As  for  that,  I  can't  imagine  any  calamity  possible 
to  us  —  unless  something  should  occur  to  hinder  us 
from  going  to  London.  But  nothing  in  the  world 
shall  do  that,  of  course." 

'Twas  upon  this  conversation  that  Tom  and  I 
broke  in,  having  met  as  I  returned  from  the  custom 
house,  he  from  the  college. 


WE   HEAR   STARTLING   NEWS.  IO? 

"  Oho ! "  cried  Tom,  with  teasing  mirth,  "  still 
love-making !  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  brother  Phil,  'tis 
time  you  two  had  eyes  for  something  else  besides 
each  other.  The  town  is  talking  of  how  engrossed 
Margaret  is  in  you,  that  she  ignores  the  existence  of 
everybody  else." 

"  Let  'em  talk,"  said  Margaret,  lightly,  with  an 
indifference  free  from  malice.  "  Who  cares  about 
their  existence  ?  They're  not  so  interesting,  with 
their  dull  teas  and  stupid  gossip  of  one  another !  A 
set  of  tedious  rustics." 

"  Hear  the  countess  talk  !  "  Tom  rattled  on,  at  the 
same  time  looking  affectionate  admiration  out  of  his 
mirthful  eyes.  "What  a  high  and  mighty  lady  is 
yours,  my  lord  Philip !  I  should  like  to  know  what 
the  Morrises,  and  Lind  Murray,  and  the  Philipse 
boys  and  girls,  and  our  De  Lancey  cousins,  and  the 
rest,  would  think  to  hear  themselves  called  a  set  of 
rustics." 

"Why,"  says  Phil,  "beside  her  ladyship  here,  are 
they  not  a  set  of  rustics  ?  "  With  which  he  kissed 
her,  and  rose  to  go  to  his  room. 

" Merci,  monsieur!"  said  Margaret,  rising  and 
dropping  him  a  curtsey,  with  the  prettiest  of  glances, 
as  he  left  the  parlour. 

She  hummed  a  little  French  air,  and  went  and  ran 
her  fingers  up  and  down  the  keys  of  the  pianoforte, 
which  great  new  instrument  had  supplanted  the  old 


108  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

harpsichord  in  the  house.  Tom  and  I,  standing  at 
the  fireplace,  watched  her  face  as  the  candle-light  fell 
upon  it. 

"Well,"  quoth  Tom,  "Phil  is  no  prouder  of  his 
wife  than  I  am  of  my  sister.  Don't  you  think  she 
grows  handsomer  every  day,  Bert  ? " 

"  'Tis  the  effect  of  happiness,"  said  I,  and  then  I 
looked  into  the  fireplace  rather  than  at  her.  For 
I  was  then,  and  had  been  for  long  months,  engaged 
in  the  struggle  of  detaching  my  thoughts  from  her 
charms,  or,  better,  of  accustoming  myself  to  look 
upon  them  with  composure ;  and  I  had  made  such 
good  success  that  I  wished  not  to  set  myself  back 
in  it.  Eventually  my  success  was  complete,  and  I 
came  to  feel  toward  her  no  more  than  the  friendship 
of  a  lifelong  comrade.  If  a  man  be  honest,  and  put 
forth  his  will,  he  can  quench  his  love  for  the  woman 
that  is  lost  to  him,  unless  there  have  existed  long 
the  closest,  tenderest,  purest  ties  between  them ; 
and  even  then,  except  that  'twill  revive  again  some 
times  at  the  touch  of  an  old  memory. 

"You  dear  boys  !  "  says  Margaret,  coming  over  to 
us,  to  reward  Tom  with  a  kiss  on  the  cheek,  and  me 
with  a  smile.  "What  a  vain  thing  you  will  make 
me  of  my  looks  !  " 

"  Nay,"  says  candid  Tom,  "  that  work  was  done 
before  ever  we  had  the  chance  of  a  hand  in  it." 

"Well,"   retorted  Margaret,   with  good-humoured 


WE   HEAR   STARTLING   NEWS. 

pertness,  "there'll  never  be  reason  for  me  to  make 
my  brother  vain  of  his  wit." 

"  Nor  for  my  sister  to  be  vain  of  hers,"  said  Tom, 
not  in  nettled  retaliation,  but  merely  as  uttering  a 
truth. 

"You  compliment  me  there,"  says  Margaret, 
lightly.  "  Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  witty  woman  that 
was  charming? " 

"That  is  true,"  I  put  in,  remembering  some  talk 
of  Phil's,  based  upon  reading  as  well  as  upon  observa 
tion,  "  for  usually  a  woman  must  be  ugly,  before  she 
will  take  the  trouble  to  cultivate  wit.  The  posses 
sion  of  wit  in  a  woman  seems  to  imply  a  lack  of 
other  reliances.  And  if  a  woman  be  pretty  and 
witty  both,  her  arrogance  is  like  to  be  such  as  drives 
every  man  away.  And  men  resent  wit  in  a  woman 
as  if  'twere  an  invasion  of  their  own  province." 

"  Sure  your  explanation  must  be  true,  Mr.  Philoso 
pher,"  said  Margaret,  "  'tis  so  profound.  As  for  me, 
I  seek  no  reasons  ;  'tis  enough  to  know  that  most 
witty  women  are  frights  ;  and  I  don't  blame  the  men 
for  refusing  to  be  charmed  by  'em." 

"Well,  sis,"  said  Tom,  "  I'm  sure  even  the  cultiva 
tion  of  wit  wouldn't  make  you  a  fright.  So  you  might 
amuse  yourself  by  trying  it,  ma'am.  As  for  charm 
ing  the  men,  you  married  ladies  have  no  more  to  do 
with  that." 

"  Oh,  haven't  we  ?     Sure,  I  think  'tis  time  little 


IIO  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

boys  were  in  bed,  who  talk  of  things  they  know 
nothing  about.  Isn't  that  so,  Bert  ?  " 

"  Why,"  said  I,  "  for  my  part,  I  think  'tis  unkind 
for  a  woman  to  exercise  her  charms  upon  men  after 
she  has  destroyed  the  possibility  of  rewarding  their 
devotion." 

"  Dear  me,  you  talk  like  a  character  in  a  novel. 
Well,  then,  you're  both  agreed  I  mustn't  be  charming. 
So  I'll  be  disagreeable,  and  begin  with  you  two.  Here's 
a  book  of  sermons  Mr.  Cornelius  must  have  left. 
That  will  help  me,  if  anything  will."  And  she  sat 
down  with  the  volume  in  her  hands,  took  on  a  solemn 
frown,  and  began  to  read  to  herself.  After  awhile, 
at  a  giggle  of  amusement  from  schoolboy  Tom,  she 
turned  a  rebuking  gaze  upon  us,  over  the  top  of  the 
book;  but  the  very  effort  to  be  severe  emphasised 
the  fact  that  her  countenance  was  formed  to  give 
only  pleasure,  and  our  looks  brought  back  the  smile 
to  her  eyes. 

"  'Tis  no  use,"  said  Tom,  "you  couldn't  help  being 
charming  if  you  tried." 

She  threw  down  the  book,  and  came  and  put  her 
arm  around  him,  and  so  we  all  three  stood  before  the 
fire  till  Philip  returned. 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  "  here  is  one  who  will  never  ask 
me  to  be  ugly  or  unpleasant." 

"Who  has  been  asking  impossibilities,  my  dear?" 
inquired  Philip,  taking  her  offered  hand  in  his. 


WE  HEAR  STARTLING  NEWS.  Ill 

"These  wise  gentlemen  think  I  oughtn't  to  be 
charming,  now  that  I'm  married." 

"  Then  they  think  you  oughtn't  to  be  yourself ; 
and  I  disagree  with  'em  entirely." 

She  gave  him  her  other  hand  also,  and  stood  for  a 
short  while  looking  into  his  innocent,  fond  eyes. 

"You  dear  old  Phil!"  she  said  slowly,  in  a  low 
voice,  falling  for  the  moment  into  a  tender  gravity, 
and  her  eyes  having  a  more  than  wonted  softness. 
The  next  instant,  recovering  her  light  playfulness 
with  a  little  laugh,  she  took  his  arm  and  led  the  way 
to  the  dining-room. 

And  now  came  Spring  —  the  Spring  of  1775. 
There  had  been,  of  course,  for  years  past,  and  in 
creasing  daily  in  recent  months,  talk  of  the  disagree 
ment  between  the  king  and  the  colonies.  I  have 
purposely  deferred  mention  of  this  subject,  to  the 
time  when  it  was  to  fall  upon  us  in  its  full  force  so 
that  no  one  could  ignore  it  or  avoid  action  with  regard 
to  it.  But  I  now  reach  the  beginning  of  the  drama 
which  is  the  matter  of  this  history,  and  to  which  all 
I  have  written  is  uneventful  prologue.  We  young 
people  of  the  Faringfield  house  (for  I  was  still  as 
much  of  that  house  as  of  my  own)  had  concerned 
ourselves  little  with  the  news  from  London  and 
Boston,  of  the  concentration  of  British  troops  in 
the  latter  town  in  consequence  of  the  increased  dis 
affection  upon  the  closing  of  its  port.  We  heeded 


112  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

little  the  fact  that  the  colonies  meant  to  convene 
another  general  congress  at  Philadelphia,  or  that 
certain  colonial  assemblies  had  done  thus  and  so,  and 
certain  local  committees  decided  upon  this  or  that. 
'Twould  all  blow  over,  of  course,  as  the  Stamp  Act 
trouble  had  done  ;  the  seditious  class  in  Boston  would 
soon  be  overawed,  and  the  king  would  then  concede, 
of  his  gracious  will,  what  the  malcontents  had  failed 
to  obtain  by  their  violent  demands.  Such  a  thing  as 
actual  rebellion,  real  war,  was  to  us  simply  inconceiv 
able.  I  believe  now  that  Philip  had  earlier  and 
deeper  thoughts  on  the  subject  than  I  had  :  indeed 
events  showed  that  he  must  have  had  :  but  he  kept 
them  to  himself.  And  far  other  and  lighter  subjects 
occupied  our  minds  as  he  and  I  started  for  a  walk  out 
the  Bowery  lane  one  balmy  Sunday  morning  in 
April,  the  twenty-third  day  of  the  month. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Faringfield,  Fanny,  and  Tom,  had 
gone  to  church.  Philip  and  I  boasted  of  too  much 
philosophical  reading  to  be  churchgoers,  and  I  had 
let  my  mother  walk  off  to  Trinity  with  a  neighbour. 
As  for  Margaret,  she  stayed  home  because  she  was 
now  her  own  mistress  and  had  a  novel  to  read,  out 
of  the  last  parcel  received  from  London.  We  left 
her  on  the  rear  veranda,  amidst  the  honeysuckle 
vines  that  climbed  the  trellis-work. 

"  I've  been  counting  the  weeks,"  she  said  to  Phil, 
as  we  were  about  to  set  forth.  "  Only  seven  more 


WE  HEAR  STARTLING  NEWS.  113 

Sundays."  And  she  stopped  him  to  adjust  the 
ribbon  of  his  queue  more  to  her  taste.  "Aren't  you 
glad  ? " 

"  Yes ;  and  a  thousand  times  so  because  it  makes 
you  happy,  my  dear,"  said  he. 

She  kissed  him,  and  let  him  go.  "  Don't  walk  too 
far,  dear !  "  she  called  after  us. 

We  looked  back  from  the  gateway,  and  saw  that 
she  had  come  to  the  end  of  the  veranda  to  see  us 
from  the  garden.  We  doffed  our  hats,  and  Phil  threw 
her  a  kiss  ;  which  she  returned,  and  then  waved  her 
hand  after  us,  softly  smiling.  Philip  lingered  a  mo 
ment,  smiling  back,  to  get  this  last  view  of  her  ere 
he  closed  the  gate. 

We  had  just  passed  the  common,  at  the  Northern 
end  of  the  town,  when  we  heard  a  clatter  of  gallop 
ing  hoofs  in  the  Bowery  lane  before  us.  Looking 
up  the  vista  of  road  shaded  by  trees  in  fresh  leafage, 
we  saw  a  rider  coming  toward  us  at  a  very  severe 
pace.  As  he  approached,  the  horse  stumbled;  and 
the  man  on  its  back,  fearing  it  might  sink  from  ex 
haustion,  drew  up  and  gave  it  a  moment  in  which  to 
recover  itself.  He  evidently  wished  to  make  a  decent 
entrance  into  the  town.  He  was  in  a  great  panting 
and  perspiration,  like  his  trembling  steed,  which  was 
covered  with  foam  ;  and  his  clothes  were  disturbed 
and  soiled  with  travel.  He  took  off  his  cocked  felt 
hat  to  fan  himself. 


114  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

"You  ride  fast,  for  Sunday,  friend,"  said  Phil 
pleasantly.  "  Any  trouble  ? " 

"Trouble  for  some  folks,  I  guess,"  was  the  reply, 
spoken  with  a  Yankee  drawl  and  twang.  "  I'm 
bringing  news  from  Massachusetts."  He  slapped 
the  great  pocket  of  his  plain  coat,  calling  attention 
to  its  well-filled  condition  as  with  square  papers. 
"  Letters  from  the  Committee  of  Safety." 

"Why,  has  anything  happened  at  Boston  ?  "  asked 
Phil,  quickly. 

"Well,  no,  not  just  at  Boston.  But  out  Concord 
way,  and  at  Lexington,  and  on  the  road  back  to  Bos 
ton,  I  should  reckon  a  few  things  had  happened." 
And  then,  leaving  off  his  exasperating  drawl,  he  very 
speedily  related  the  terrible  occurrence  of  the  nine 
teenth  of  April  —  terrible  because  'twas  warlike 
bloodshed  in  a  peaceful  land,  between  the  king's 
soldiers  and  the  king's  subjects,  between  men  of 
the  same  race  and  speech,  men  of  the  same  mother 
country ;  and  because  of  what  was  to  follow  in  its 
train.  I  remember  how  easily  and  soon  the  tale 
was  told ;  how  clearly  the  man's  calm  voice,  though 
scarce  raised  above  a  usual  speaking  tone,  stood 
out  against  the  Sunday  morning  stillness,  with  no 
sound  else  but  the  twittering  of  birds  in  the  trees 
near  by. 

"  Get  up  ! "  said  the  messenger,  not  waiting  for 
our  thanks  or  comments ;  and  so  galloped  into  the 


WE   HEAR  STARTLING  NEWS.  115 

town,  leaving  us  to  stare  after  him  and  then  at  each 
other. 

"'Faith,  this  will  make  the  colonies  stand  to 
gether,"  said  Philip  at  last. 

"Ay,"  said  I,  "against  the  rebellious  party." 

"No,"  quoth  he,  "when  I  say  the  colonies,  I 
mean  what  you  call  the  rebellious  party  in  them." 

"Why,  'tis  not  the  majority,  and  therefore  it  can't 
be  said  to  represent  the  colonies." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  —  I  think  we  shall  find  it  is 
the  majority,  particularly  outside  of  the  large  towns. 
This  news  will  fly  to  every  corner  of  the  land  as  fast 
as  horses  can  carry  it,  and  put  the  country  folk  in 
readiness  for  whatever  the  Continental  Congress  may 
decide  upon." 

"  Why,  then,  'twill  put  our  people  on  their  guard, 
too,  for  whatever  the  rebels  may  attempt." 

Philip's  answer  to  this  brought  about  some  dispute 
as  to  whether  the  name  rebels,  in  its  ordinary  sense, 
could  properly  be  applied  to  those  colonists  who  had 
what  he  termed  grievances.  We  both  showed  heat, 
I  the  more,  until  he,  rather  than  quarrel,  fell  into 
silence.  We  had  turned  back  into  the  town  ;  choos 
ing  a  roundabout  way  for  home,  that  we  might  ob 
serve  the  effect  of  the  messenger's  news  upon  the 
citizens.  In  a  few  streets  the  narrow  footways  were 
thronged  with  people  in  their  churchgoing  clothes, 
and  many  of  these  had  already  gathered  into  startled 


Il6  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

groups,  where  the  rider  who  came  in  such  un-Sabbath- 
like  haste  had  stopped  to  justify  himself,  and  satisfy 
the  curiosity  of  observers,  and  ask  the  whereabouts 
of  certain  gentlemen  of  the  provincial  assembly,  to 
whom  he  had  letters.  We  heard  details  repeated, 
and  opinions  uttered  guardedly,  and  grave  concern 
everywhere  expressed. 

By  the  time  we  had  reached  home,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Faringfield  were  already  there,  discussing  the  news 
with  my  mother,  in  the  presence  of  the  two  daugh 
ters  and  Tom.  We  found  them  all  in  the  parlour. 
Margaret  stood  in  the  library  doorway,  still  holding 
her  novel  in  her  hand,  her  finger  keeping  the  page. 
Her  face  showed  but  a  languid  interest  in  the  tragedy 
which  made  all  the  others  look  so  grave. 

"  You've  heard  the  news,  of  course  ? "  said  Mr. 
Faringfield  to  us  as  we  entered,  curiously  searching 
Philip's  face  while  he  spoke. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  we  were  the  first  in  the  town  to  hear 
it,  I  think,"  replied  Phil. 

"  'Tis  a  miracle  if  we  do  not  have  war,"  said  Mr. 
Faringfield. 

"  I  pray  not,"  says  my  mother,  who  was  a  little 
less  terrified  than  Mrs.  Faringfield.  "  And  I  won't 
believe  we  shall,  till  I  see  it  at  our  doors." 

"  Oh,  don't  speak  of  it ! "  cried  Mrs.  Faringfield, 
with  a  shudder. 

"  Why,  ladies,"  says  Philip,  "  'tis  best  to  think  of 


WE   HEAR  STARTLING  NEWS.  1 1/ 

it  as  if  'twere  surely  coming,  and  so  accustom  the  mind 
to  endure  its  horrors.  I  shall  teach  my  wife  to  do  so." 
And  he  looked  playfully  over  at  Margaret. 

"  Why,  what  is  it  to  me  ?  "  said  Margaret.  "  Tis 
not  like  to  come  before  we  sail,  and  in  England  we 
shall  be  well  out  of  it.  Sure  you  don't  think  the 
rebels  will  cross  the  ocean  and  attack  London  ? " 

"Why,  if  war  comes,"  said  Phil,  quietly,  "we 
shall  have  to  postpone  our  sailing." 

"Postpone  it!"  she  cried,  in  alarm.  "Why? 
And  how  long  ?  " 

"  Until  the  matter  is  settled  one  way  or  another." 

"But  it  won't  come  before  we  sail.  'Tis  only 
seven  weeks.  Whatever  happens,  they'll  fiddle  away 
that  much  time  first,  in  talk  and  preparation  ;  they 
always  do." 

"But  we  must  wait,  my  dear,  till  the  question  is 
decided  whether  there's  to  be  war  or  peace.  If  we 
come  round  to  the  certainty  of  peace,  which  is  doubt 
ful,  then  of  course  there's  naught  to  hinder  us. 
But  if  there's  war,  why,  we've  no  choice  but  to  see  it 
out  before  we  leave  the  country." 

I  never  elsewhere  saw  such  utter,  indignant  con 
sternation  as  came  over  Margaret's  face. 

"  But  why  ?  For  what  reason  ? "  she  cried. 
"  Will  not  vessels  sail,  as  usual  ?  Are  you  afraid 
we  shall  be  harmed  on  the  sea  ?  'Tis  ridiculous  ! 
The  rebels  have  no  war-ships.  Why  need  we  stay  ? 


I  1 8  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

What  have  we  to  do  with  these  troubles  ?  Tis  not 
our  business  to  put  them  down.  The  king  .has 
soldiers  enough." 

"Ay,"  said  Phil,  surprised  at  her  vehemence,  but 
speaking  the  more  quietly  for  that,  "  'tis  the  colonies 
will  need  soldiers." 

"  Then  what  folly  are  you  talking  ?  Why  should 
we  stay  for  this  war." 

"  That  I  may  take  my  part  in  it,  my  dear." 

"  Bravo,  brother  Phil  !  "  cried  Tom  Faringfield. 
"  You  nor  I  sha'n't  miss  a  chance  to  fight  for  the 
king!" 

"  Nor  I,  either,"  I  added. 

"'Tis  not  for  the  king,  that  I  shall  be  fighting," 
said  Phil,  simply. 

A  silence  of  astonishment  fell  on  the  company. 
'Twas  broken  by  Mr.  Faringfield  : 

"  Bravo,  Phil,  say  /  this  time."  And,  losing  no 
jot  of  his  haughty  manner,  he  went  over,  and  with 
one  hand  grasping  Phil's,  laid  the  other  approvingly 
on  the  young  man's  shoulder. 

"What,  have  we  rebels  in  our  own  family?" 
cried  Mrs.  Faringfield,  whose  horror  at  the  fact  gave 
her  of  a  sudden  the  needful  courage. 

"  Madam,  do  your  sentiments  differ  from  mine  ?  " 
asked  her  husband. 

"  Sir,  I  am  a  De  Lancey !  "  she  replied,  with 
a  chilling  haughtiness  almost  equal  to  his  own. 


WE  HEAR    STARTLING  NEWS.  1 19 

Tom,  buoyed  by  his  feelings  of  loyalty  above  the 
fear  of  his  father's  displeasure,  crossed  to  his  mother, 
and  kissed  her  ;  and  even  Fanny  had  the  spirit  to 
show  defiantly  on  which  side  she  stood,  by  nestling 
to  her  mother's  side  and  caressing  her  head. 

"  Good,  mamma  !  "  cried  Margaret.  "  No  one 
shall  make  rebels  of  us !  Understand  that,  Mr. 
Philip  Winwood  !  " 

Philip,  though  an  ashen  hue  about  the  lips  showed 
what  was  pissing  in  his  heart,  tried  to  take  the 
bitterness  from  the  situation  by  treating  it  playfully. 

"  You  see,  Mr.  Faringfield,  if  we  are  indeed  rebels 
against  our  king,  we  are  paid  by  our  wives  turning 
rebels  against  ourselves." 

"  You  cannot  make  a  joke  of  it,  sir,"  said  Mar 
garet,  with  a  menacing  coldness  in  her  tone.  "  Tis 
little  need  the  king  has  of  my  influence,  I  fancy ;  he 
has  armies  to  fight  his  battles.  But  there's  one 
thing  does  concern  me,  and  that  is  my  visit  to  Lon 
don.  —  But  you'll  not  deprive  me  of  that,  dear,  will 
you,  now  that  you  think  of  it  better  ? "  Her  voice 
had  softened  as  she  turned  to  pleading. 

"  We  must  wait,  my  dear,  while  there  is  uncer 
tainty  or  war." 

"  But  you  haven't  the  right  to  make  me  wait !  " 
she  cried,  her  voice  warming  to  mingled  rage,  re 
proach,  and  threat.  "  Why,  wars  last  for  years  —  I 
should  be  an  old  woman  !  You're  not  free  to  deny 


I2O  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

me  this  pleasure,  or  postpone  it  an  hour !  You 
promised  it  from  the  first,  you  encouraged  my  antici 
pations  until  I  came  to  live  upon  them,  you  fed  my 
hopes  till  they  dropped  everything  else  in  the  world. 
Night  and  day  I  have  looked  forward  to  it,  thought 
of  it,  dreamt  of  it !  And  now  you  say  I  must  wait  — 
months,  at  least ;  probably  years  !  But  you  can't 
mean  it,  Phil !  You  wouldn't  be  so  cruel !  Tell 
me!" 

"  I  mean  no  cruelty,  dear.  But  one  has  no  choice 
when  patriotism  dictates  —  when  one's  country  - 

"Why,  you  sha'n't  treat  me  so,  disappoint  me  so  ! 
'Twould  be  breaking  your  word  ;  'twould  be  a  cruel 
betrayal,  no  less ;  'twould  make  all  your  conduct 
since  our  marriage  —  nay,  since  that  very  day  we 
promised  marriage  —  a  deception,  a  treachery,  a  lie  ; 
winning  a  woman's  hand  and  keeping  her  love,  upon 
a  false  pretence !  You  dare  not  turn  back  on  your 
word  now !  If  you  ate  a  man  of  honour,  of  truth, 
of  common  honesty,  you  will  let  this  miserable  war 
go  hang,  and  take  me  to  England,  as  you  promised ! 
And  if  you  don't  I'll  hate  you  !  —  hate  you  !  " 

Her  speech  had  come  out  in  a  torrent  of  increasing 
force,  until  her  voice  was  almost  a  scream,  and  this 
violence  had  its  climax  in  a  hysterical  outburst  of 
weeping,  as  she  sank  upon  a  chair  and  hid  her  face 
upon  the  back  thereof.  In  this  attitude  she  re 
mained,  her  body  shaking  with  sobs. 


WE  HEAR  STARTLING  NEWS.  121 

Philip,  moved  as  a  man  rarely  is,  hastened  to  her, 
and  leaning  over,  essayed  to  take  her  hand. 

"  But  you  should  understand,  dear,"  said  he,  most 
tenderly,  with  what  voice  he  could  command.  "  God 
knows  I  would  do  anything  to  make  you  happy, 
but  —  " 

"Then,"  she  said  tearfully,  resigning  her  hand  to 
his,  "  don't  bring  this  disappointment  upon  me.  Let 
them  make  war,  if  they  please ;  you  have  your  wife 
to  consider,  and  your  own  future.  Whatever  they 
fight  about,  'tis  nothing  to  you,  compared  with  your 
duty  to  me." 

"  But  you  don't  understand,"  was  all  he  could 
reply.  "  If  I  could  explain  — 

"  Oh,  Phil,  dear,"  she  said,  adopting  again  a 
tender,  supplicating  tone.  "  You'll  not  rob  me  of 
what  I've  so  joyously  looked  forward  to,  will  you? 
Think,  how  I've  set  my  heart  on  it !  Why,  we've 
looked  forward  to  it  together,  haven't  we  ?  All  our 
happiness  has  been  bound  up  with  our  anticipations. 
Don't  speak  of  understanding  or  explaining,  —  only 
remember  that  our  first  thought  should  be  of  each 
other's  happiness,  dear,  and  that  you  will  ruin  mine 
if  you  don't  take  me.  For  my  sake,  for  my  love, 
promise  we  shall  go  to  England  in  June !  I  beg  you 
—  'tis  the  one  favour  —  I  will  love  you  so !  Do, 
Phil!  We  shall  be  so  happy!" 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  such  an  eager  pleading 


122  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

through  her  tears  that  I  did  not  wonder  to  see  his 
own  eyes  moisten. 

"My  dear,"  said  he,  with  an  unsteady  voice,  "I 
can't.  I  shouldn't  be  a  man  if  I  left  the  country 
at  this  time.  I  should  loathe  myself ;  I  should  not 
be  worthy  of  you." 

She  flung  his  hand  away  from  her,  and  rose  in 
another  seizure  of  wrath. 

"Worthy  !  "  she  cried.  "What  man  is  worthy  of 
a  woman,  when  he  cheats  her  as  you  have  cheated 
me !  You  are  a  fool,  with  your  talk  of  loathing  your 
self  if  you  left  the  country !  In  God's  name,  what 
could  there  be  in  that  to  make  you  loathe  yourself  ? 
What  claim  has  the  country  on  you,  equal  to  the 
claim  your  wife  has  ?  Better  loathe  yourself  for 
your  false  treatment  of  her !  You'd  loathe  your 
self,  indeed  !  Well,  then,  I  tell  you  this,  'tis  I  that 
will  loathe  you,  if  you  stay  !  I  shall  abominate  you, 
I  shall  not  let  you  come  into  my  sight !  Now,  sir, 
take  your  choice,  this  instant.  Keep  your  promise 
with  me  — 

"  'Twas  not  exactly  a  promise,  my  dear." 

"  I  say,  keep  it,  and  take  me  to  London,  and  keep 
my  love  and  respect ;  or  break  your  promise,  and  my 
heart,  and  take  my  hate  and  contempt.  Choose,  I 
say  !  Which  ?  This  instant !  Speak !  " 

"Madge,  dear,  you  are  not  yourself  —  " 

"  Oh,  but  I  am,  though  !     More  myself  than  ever  ! 


WE  HEAR  STARTLING  NEWS.  12$ 

And  my  own  mistress,  too  !  Speak,  I  bid  you  !  Tell 
me  we  shall  go.  Answer  —  will  you  do  as  your  wife 
wishes  ? " 

"  I  will  do  as  your  husband  ought." 

"  Will  you  go  to  England  ?  " 

"  I  will  stay  till  I  know  the  fate  of  the  colonies ; 
and  to  fight  for  them  if  need  be." 

"You  give  me  up,  for  the  sake  of  a  whim,  of  some 
silly  fustian  about  patriotism,  some  fool's  rubbish  of 
high-sounding  words !  Me,  you  balance  against  a 
crazy  notion !  Very  well,  sir !  How  I  shall  hate 
you  for  it!  Don't  come  near  me  —  not  a  step! 
Cling  to  your  notion  ;  see  if  it  will  fill  my  place ! 
From  this  moment,  you're  not  my  husband,  I'm  not 
your  wife  —  unless  you  promise  we  shall  sail  in 
June !  And  don't  dare  speak  to  me,  except  to  tell 
me  that !  " 

Whereupon,  paying  no  heed  to  his  reproachful  cry 
of  "Madge,"  she  swept  past  him,  and  across  the 
parlour,  and  up  the  hall  staircase  to  her  room ; 
leaving  us  all  in  the  amazement  which  had  held 
us  motionless  and  silent  throughout  the  scene. 

Philip  stood  with  his  hand  upon  the  chair-back 
where  she  had  wept ;  pale  and  silent,  the  picture 
of  abandonment  and  sorrow. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

Ned  Comes  Back,  with  an  Interesting  Tale  of  a 
Fortunate  Irishman. 

BEFORE  any  of  us  knew  what  to  say,  a  soft  tread 
in  the  library  announced  the  approach  of  Mr.  Cor 
nelius.  He  entered  unaware  of  the  scene  that  had 
just  terminated,  and  with  the  stormy  character  of 
which  on  Margaret's  part,  nothing  could  have  been 
in  greater  contrast  than  the  quiescent  atmosphere 
that  ever  accompanied  the  shy,  low-speaking  peda 
gogue.  His  presence  diffused  peace  and  quietude ; 
and  more  than  formerly  was  this  the  case  of  late, 
since  he  had  resumed  an  intention  of  entering  the 
Presbyterian  ministry. 

He  had  qualified  himself  for  this  profession  at 
Princeton.  But  after  his  full  preparations,  a  con 
scientious  scruple  had  arisen  from  a  sense  of  his 
diffidence,  which  he  despaired  of  conquering,  and  by 
which  he  believed  his  attempts  at  pulpit  eloquence 
were  sure  to  be  defeated.  Though  he  could  compass 
the  hardihood  to  discourse  to  an  assemblage  of  dis 
tracting  schoolboys  several  hours  every  week-day, 

124 


NED    COMES  BACK.  12$ 

he  could  not  summon  the  courage  to  address  an 
audience  of  somnolent  adults  two  hours  on  Sunday. 

But  latterly  he  had  awakened  to  a  new  inward 
call,  and  resolved  upon  a  new  trial  of  his  powers. 
By  way  of  preliminary  training,  he  had  set  about 
practising  upon  the  sailors  and  wharfmen  who  ordi 
narily  spent  their  Sundays  in  gaming  or  boozing  in 
low  taverns  along  the  water-front.  To  as  many  of 
these  as  would  gather  in  some  open  space,  at  the 
sound  of  his  voice  raised  tremulously  in  a  hymn,  he 
would  preach  as  a  layman,  thus  borrowing  from  the 
Methodists  a  device  by  which  he  hoped  not  only  his 
present  hearers,  but  also  his  own  future  Presbyterian 
congregations,  should  benefit.  It  was  from  one  of 
these  informal  meetings,  broken  up  by  the  news  from 
Massachusetts,  that  he  was  but  now  returned. 

The  stupefaction  in  which  we  all  sat,  did  not  pre 
vent  our  noting  the  excitement  in  which  Cornelius 
came ;  and  Mr.  Faringfield  looked  a  mute  inquiry. 

"  Your  pardon,  friends,"  said  the  pedagogue  to 
the  company ;  and  then  to  Mr.  Faringfield  :  "  If  I 
might  speak  with  you  alone  a  moment,  sir  — 

Mr.  Faringfield  went  with  him  into  the  library, 
leaving  us  all  under  new  apprehension. 

"  Dear  bless  me  !  "  quoth  Mrs.  Faringfield,  looking 
distressed.  "  More  calamity,  I  vow." 

In  a  moment  we  heard  Mr.  Faringfield's  voice 
raised  in  a  vehement  "  No,  sir !  "  Then  the  library 


126  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

door  was  reopened,  and  he  returned  to  us,  followed 
by  Cornelius,  who  was  saying  in  his  mildest  voice  : 
"  But  I  protest,  sir  —  I  entreat  —  he  is  a  changed 
man,  I  assure  you." 

"  Changed  for  the  worse,  I  make  no  doubt,"  re 
turned  the  angry  merchant.  "  Let  him  not  darken 
my  door.  If  it  weren't  Sunday,  I  should  send  for 
a  constable  this  moment." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Faringfield.  "  Sure  it 
can't  be  —  that  boy  again  !  " 

"  Mr.  Edward,  madam,"  said  the  tutor. 

"  Dear,  dear,  what  a  day !  What  a  terrible  day ! 
And  Sunday,  too !  "  moaned  the  lady,  lying  back  in 
her  chair,  completely  crushed,  as  if  the  last  blow  of 
fate  had  fallen. 

"  He  arrived  in  the  Sarah  brig,  which  anchored 
yesterday  evening,"  explained  Mr.  Cornelius,  "but 
he  didn't  come  ashore  till  this  morning." 

"  He  thought  Sunday  safer,"  said  Mr.  Faringfield, 
with  scornful  derision. 

"  I  was  returning  from  my  service,  when  I  met 
him,"  continued  the  tutor.  "  He  was  at  the  Faring 
field  wharf,  inquiring  after  the  health  of  the  family, 
of  Meadows  the  watchman.  I  —  er  —  persuaded  him 
to  come  home  with  me." 

"You  mean,  sir,  he  persuaded  you  to  come  and 
intercede  for  him,"  said  Mr.  Faringfield. 

"  He  is  now  waiting  in  the  garden.     I  have  been 


NED    COMES  BACK.  I2/ 

telling  Mr.  Faringfield,  ma'am,  that  the  young  man 
is  greatly  altered.  Upon  my  word,  he  shows  the 
truest  signs  of  penitence.  I  believe  he  is  entirely 
reformed  ;  he  says  so." 

"  You'd  best  let  him  come  in,  William,"  counselled 
Mrs.  Faringfield.  "  If  you  don't,  goodness  knows 
what  he  may  do.". 

"Madam,  I  resolved  long  ago  to  let  the  law  do 
its  utmost  upon  him,  if  he  should  ever  return." 

"  Oh,  but  think  what  scandal !  What  will  all  my 
relations  say?  Besides,  if  he  is  reformed  —  " 

"  If  he  is  reformed,  let  him  show  it  by  his  conduct 
on  my  refusing  to  take  him  back ;  and  by  suffering 
the  penalty  of  his  crime." 

"  Oh  !  —  penalty  !  Don't  speak  such  words  !  A 
jailbird  in  the  family !  I  never  could  endure  it !  I 
shouldn't  dare  go  to  church,  or  be  seen  anywhere 
in  public ! " 

"The  same  old  discussion!"  said  Mr.  Faringfield, 
with  a  wearied  frown. 

"  Papa,  you  won't  send  him  to  jail,  will  you  ?  " 
ventured  Fanny,  with  eyes  rapidly  moistening,  and 
lips  turning  to  a  pout  in  spite  of  herself. 

"  Really,  sir,"  put  in  Cornelius,  trembling  at  his 
own  temerity,  "  if  you  could  but  see  him  —  take 
my  word,  sir,  if  ever  there  was  a  case  where 
forgiveness  — 

After  much  more  of  this  sort  of  talk,  and  being 


128  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

shaken  in  will  by  the  day's  previous  excitements, 
Mr.  Faringfield  at  length  gave  in  so  far  as  to  con 
sent  to  an  interview  with  the  penitent,  to  whom 
thereupon  Cornelius  hastened  with  the  news. 

It  was  indeed  a  changed  and  chastened  Ned,  to 
all  outward  appearance,  that  entered  meekly  with 
the  pedagogue  a  few  minutes  later.  His  tread  was 
so  soft,  his  demeanour  so  tame,  that  one  would  scarce 
have  known  him  but  for  a  second  look  at  his  shapely 
face  and  burly  figure.  The  face  was  now  somewhat 
hollowed  out,  darkened,  lined,  and  blotched ;  and 
elongated  with  meek  resignation.  His  clothes  — 
claret  -  coloured  cloth  coat  and  breeches,  flowered 
waistcoat,  silk  stockings,  lace  ruffles,  and  all  —  were 
shabby  and  stained.  He  bowed  to  the  company, 
and  then  stood,  furtively  watching  for  some  mani 
festation  from  the  rest  before  he  dared  proceed  to 
warmer  greetings. 

Fanny  stepped  softly  forward  and  kissed  him,  in 
a  shy,  perfunctory  manner ;  and  then  good-natured 
Tom  shook  his  hand,  and  Philip  followed  suit ;  after 
which  Mrs.  Faringfield  embraced  him  somewhat 
stiffly,  and  I  gingerly  held  his  fingers  a  moment,  and 
my  mother  hoped  he  found  himself  well. 

"  Quite  well,  I  thank  you,  considering,"  said  he ; 
and  then  gazed  in  a  half-scared  way  at  his  father. 
All  the  old  defiance  had  disappeared  under  the  blows 
of  adversity. 


NED    COMES  BACK.  1 29 

"Well,  sir,"  said  his  father,  coldly,  "we  had  scarce 
looked  for  you  back  among  us." 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Ned,  still  standing.  "  I  had  no 
right  to  be  looked  for,  sir  —  no  more  than  the  prodi 
gal  son  had.  I'm  a  bit  like  him,  sir." 

"Don't  count  upon  the  fatted  calf,  however." 

"  No,  sir  ;  not  me.  Very  plain  fare  will  do  for  me. 
I  —  I  ask  your  pardon,  sir,  for  that  —  that  business 
about  Mr.  Palmer." 

"The  world  has  put  you  into  a  humble  mood," 
said  Mr.  Faringfield,  with  sarcastic  indifference. 

"Yes,  sir ;  the  way  of  transgressors  is  hard,  sir." 

"  Why  don't  you  sit  down  ? "  put  in  Mrs.  Faring 
field,  who  was  made  uncomfortable  by  the  sight  of 
others  being  so. 

"  Thank  you,  mother,"  said  Ned,  availing  himself 
of  the  implied  permission. 

"  I  hear  you've  undergone  a  reformation,"  said  his 
father. 

"I  hope  so,  sir.     They  tell  me  I've  got  religion." 

"Who  tells  you?" 

"  The  Methodists.  I  went  to  their  meetings  in  Lon 
don.  I  —  I  thought  I  needed  a  little  of  that  kind  of 
thing.  That's  how  I  happened  to  —  to  save  my  soul." 

"And  how  do  you  conceive  you  will  provide  for 
your  body  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  yet  —  exactly.  If  I  might  stay 
here  till  I  could  find  some  employment  — 


130  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

Mr.  Faringfield  met  the  pleading  look  of  Fanny, 
and  the  prudent  one  of  his  wife.  The  latter  reflected, 
as  plainly  as  words,  what  had  manifestly  entered  his 
own  mind  :  that  immunity  from  future  trouble  on 
Ned's  account  might  indeed  be  had  without  recourse 
to  a  step  entailing  public  disgrace  upon  the  family. 
So  he  said  : 

"  My  intention  was,  if  you  should  ever  show  your 
face  in  New  York  again,  to  see  you  punished  for 
that  matter  of  the  money  and  Mr.  Palmer.  I  don't 
give  up  that  intention ;  I  shall  only  postpone  carry 
ing  it  out,  during  your  good  behaviour." 

"  Thank  you,  sir ;  I  dare  say  it's  better  than  I 
deserve." 

And  so  was  Mr.  Ned  established  home  again,  to  be 
provided  for  by  his  father  until  he  should  obtain  some 
means  of  self-support.  In  this  task  his  father  offered 
no  assistance,  being  cautious  against  vouching  for  a 
person  hitherto  so  untrustworthy ;  and  it  soon  be 
came  evident  that  Ned  was  not  very  vigorously  pros 
ecuting  the  task  himself.  He  had  the  excuse  that  it 
was  a  bad  time  for  the  purpose,  the  country  being 
so  unsettled  in  the  expectation  of  continued  war. 
And  he  was  content  to  remain  an  idle  charge  upon 
his  father's  bounty,  a  somewhat  neglected  inmate  of 
the  house,  his  comings  and  goings  not  watched  or 
inquired  into.  His  father  rarely  had  a  word  for  him 
but  of  curt  and  formal  greeting.  His  mother  found 


NED    COMES  BACK.  131 

little  more  to  say  to  him,  and  that  in  a  shy  reserved 
manner.  Margaret  gave  him  no  speeches,  but  some 
times  a  look  of  careless  derision  and  contempt,  which 
must  have  caused  him  often  to  grind  his  teeth  behind 
his  mask  of  humility.  Philip's  courtesy  to  him  was 
distinctly  chilly  ;  while  Tom  treated  him  rather  with 
the  indifferent  amiability  of  a  new  and  not  very  close 
acquaintance,  than  with  any  revival  of  old  brotherly 
familiarity.  I  shared  Phil's  doubts  upon  Ned's  spir 
itual  regeneration,  and  many  people  in  the  town  were 
equally  skeptical.  But  there  were  enough  of  those 
credulous  folk  that  delight  in  the  miraculous,  who 
believed  fully  in  this  marvellous  conversion,  and  never 
tired  of  discussing  the  wonder.  And  so  Ned  went 
about,  posing  as  a  brand  snatched  from  the  burning, 
to  the  amusement  of  one-half  the  town,  the  admira 
tion  of  the  other  half,  and  the  curiosity  of  both. 

"  'Tis  all  fudge,  says  I,"  quoth  lean  old  Bill  Mead 
ows,  the  watchman  at  the  Faringfield  wharves.  "  His 
story  and  his  face  don't  hitch.  He  declares  he  was 
convarted  by  the  Methodies,  and  he  talks  their  talk 
about  salvation  and  redemption  and  the  like.  But  if 
he  really  had  religion  their  way,  he'd  wear  the  face 
o'  joy  and  gladness.  Whereas  he  goes  about  looking 
as  sober  as  a  covenanter  that  expected  the  day  of 
judgment  to-morrow  and  knew  he  was  predestinated 
for  one  o'  the  goats.  Methodic  convarts  don't  wear 
Presbyterian  faces.  Ecod,  sir  "  (this  he  said  to  Phil, 


132  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD, 

with  whom  he  was  on  terms  of  confidence),  "he's  got 
it  in  his  head  that  religion  and  a  glum  face  goes  to 
gether  ;  and  he  thereby  gives  the  lie  to  his  Methodic 
convarsion." 

Ned  was  at  first  in  rather  sore  straits  for  a  com 
panion,  none  of  his  old  associates  taking  well  to  his 
reformation.  He  had  to  fall  back  upon  poor  Corne 
lius,  who  was  always  the  most  obliging  of  men  and 
could  never  refuse  his  company  or  aught  else  to  any 
tolerable  person  that  sought  it.  But  in  a  week  or  so 
Ned  had  won  back  Fanny  to  her  old  allegiance,  and 
she,  in  the  kindness  of  her  heart,  and  in  her  pity 
that  the  poor  repentant  fellow  should  be  so  misun 
derstood,  his  amendment  so  doubted,  gave  him  as 
much  of  her  time  as  he  asked  for.  She  walked  with 
him,  rode  with  him,  and  boated  with  him.  This  was 
all  greatly  to  my  cost  and  annoyance  ;  for,  ever  since 
she  had  so  gently  commiserated  my  loss  of  Margaret, 
I  had  learned  more  and  more  to  value  her  sweat  con 
solation,  rely  upon  her  sympathy  in  all  matters,  and 
find  serenity  and  happiness  in  her  society.  It  had 
come  to  be  that  two  were  company,  three  were  none 
—  particularly  when  the  third  was  Ned.  So,  if  she 
would  go  about  with  him,  I  left  her  to  go  with  him 
alone ;  and  I  suffered,  and  pined,  and  raged  inwardly, 
in  consequence.  'Twas  this  deprivation  that  taught 
me  how  necessary  she  was  to  me ;  and  how  her  pres 
ence  gave  my  days  half  their  brightness,  my  nights 


NED   COMES  BACK.  133 

half  their  beauty,  my  taste  of  everything  in  life  half 
its  sweetness.  Philip  was  unreservedly  welcome  to 
Madge  now ;  I  wondered  I  had  been  so  late  in  dis 
covering  the  charms  of  Fanny. 

But  one  day  I  noticed  that  a  coolness  had  arisen 
between  her  and  Ned ;  a  scarce  evident  repulsion  on 
her  part,  a  cessation  of  interest  on  his.  This  was,  I 
must  confess,  as  greatly  to  my  satisfaction  as  to  my 
curiosity.  But  Fanny  was  no  more  a  talebearer 
than  if  she  had  been  of  our  sex ;  and  Ned  was  little 
like  to  disclose  the  cause  intentionally :  so  I  did 
not  learn  it  until  by  inference  from  a  passage  that 
occurred  one  night  at  the  King's  Arms'  Tavern. 

Poor  Philip,  avoided  and  ignored  by  Madge,  who 
had  not  yet  relented,  was  taking  an  evening  stroll 
with  me,  in  the  soothing  company  of  the  pedagogue ; 
when  we  were  hailed  by  Ned  with  an  invitation  to  a 
mug  of  ale  in  the  tavern.  Struck  with  the  man's 
apparent  wistfulness  for  company,  and  moved  by  a 
fellow  feeling  of  forlornness,  Philip  accepted ;  and 
Cornelius,  always  acquiescent,  had  not  the  ill  grace 
to  refuse.  So  the  four  of  us  sat  down  together  at  a 
table. 

"  I  wish  I  might  offer  you  madeira,  gentlemen ;  or 
punch,  at  least,"  said  Ned  regretfully,  "but  you 
know  how  it  is.  I'm  reaping  what  I  sowed.  Things 
might  be  worse.  I  knew  'em  worse  in  London  — 
before  I  turned  over  a  new  leaf." 


134  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

The  mugs  being  emptied,  and  the  rest  of  us  play 
ing  host  in  turn,  they  were  several  times  replenished. 
Ned  had  been  drinking  before  he  met  us ;  but  this 
was  not  apparent  until  he  began  to  show  the  effect 
of  his  potations  while  the  heads  of  us  his  companions 
were  still  perfectly  clear.  It  was  evident  that  he  had 
not  allowed  his  conversion  to  wean  him  from  this 
kind  of  indulgence.  The  conversation  reverted  to 
his  time  of  destitution  in  London. 

"  Such  experiences,"  observed  Cornelius,  "  have 
their  good  fruits.  They  incline  men  to  repentance 
who  might  else  continue  in  their  evil  ways  all  their 
lives." 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  that's  the  truth  !  "  cried  Ned.  "  If  I'd 
had  some  people's  luck  —  but  it's  better  to  be  saved 
than  to  make  a  fortune  —  although,  to  be  sure,  there 
are  fellows,  rascals,  too,  that  the  Lord  seems  to  take 
far  better  care  of  than  he  does  of  his  own  !  " 

Mr.  Cornelius  looked  a  little  startled  at  this.  But 
the  truth  was,  I  make  no  doubt,  that  the  pretence 
of  virtue,  adopted  for  the  purpose  of  regaining 
the  comforts  of  his  father's  house,  wore  heavily 
upon  Ned  ;  that  he  chafed  terribly  under  it  some 
times  ;  and  that  this  was  one  of  the  hours  when, 
his  wits  and  tongue  loosened  by  drink,  he  became 
reckless  and  allowed  himself  relief.  He  knew  that 
Philip,  Cornelius,  and  I,  never  tattled.  And  so  he 
cast  the  muzzle  of  sham  reformation  from  his  mouth. 


NED   COMES  BACK.  135 

He  was  silent  for  a  while,  recollections  of  past 
experience  rising  vividly  in  his  mind,  as  they  will 
when  a  man  comes  to  a  certain  stage  of  drink. 

"  Sure,  luck  is  an  idiot,"  he  burst  out  presently, 
wrathful  from  his  memories.  "  It  reminds  me  of  a 
fool  of  a  wench  that  passes  over  a  gentleman  and 
flings  herself  at  a  lout.  For,  lookye,  there  was  two 
of  us  in  London,  a  rascal  Irishman  and  me,  that  lived 
in  the  same  lodgings.  We  did  that  to  save  cost,  after 
we'd  both  had  dogs'  fortune  at  the  cards  and  the 
faro-table.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  a  good-natured 
woman  or  two  —  I  spoke  ill  of  the  breed  just  now, 
but  they  have  their  merits  —  we'd  have  had  no  lodg 
ings  at  all  then,  except  the  Fleet,  maybe,  or  Newgate, 
if  it  had  come  to  that.  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  we  were 
both  as  near  starvation  as  ever  /  wish  to  be,  the 
Irishman  and  me.  There  we  were,  poverty-stricken 
as  rats,  both  tarred  with  the  same  stick,  no  difference 
between  us  except  he  was  an  ugly  brute,  and  a 
scoundrel,  and  a  man  of  no  family.  Now  if  either 
of  us  deserved  good  fortune,  it  certainly  was  me ; 
there  can't  be  any  question  of  that.  And  yet,  here 
I  am,  driven  to  the  damnedest  tedious  time  of  it  for 
bare  food  and  shelter,  and  compelled  to  drink  ale 
when  I'm  —  oh,  curse  it,  gentlemen,  was  ever  such 
rotten  luck  ?  " 

Cornelius,  whom  disillusion  had  stricken  into 
speechlessness  at  this  revelation  of  the  old  Ned 


136  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

under  the  masquerade,  sighed  heavily  and  looked 
pained.  But  Philip,  always  curious  upon  matters 
of  human  experience,  asked : 

"  What  of  the  Irishman  ?  " 

"  Driving  in  his  chariot,  the  dog  !  Swaggering  in 
Pall  Mall ;  eating  and  drinking  at  taverns  that  it 
makes  my  mouth  water  to  think  of ;  laying  his 
hundred  guineas  a  throw,  if  he  likes.  Oh,  the  devil ! 
The  fat  of  London  for  that  fellow ;  and  me  cast  off 
here  in  New  York  to  the  most  hellish  dull  life ! 
'Tisn't  a  fair  dispensation  ;  upon  my  soul  it  isn't !  " 

"And  what  made  him  so  fortunate?"  inquired 
Philip. 

"Ay,  that's  the  worst  of  it!  What  good  are  a 
man's  relations  ?  What  good  are  mine,  at  least  ? 
For  that  knave  had  only  one  relation,  but  she  was 
of  some  use,  Lord  knows  !  When  it  came  to  the 
worst  with  him,  he  walked  to  Bristol,  and  begged  or 
stole  passage  to  Ireland,  and  hunted  up  his  sister, 
who  had  a  few  pounds  a  year  of  her  own.  He  had 
thought  of  borrowing  a  guinea  or  two,  to  try  his 
fortune  with  again.  But  when  he  saw  his  sister,  he 
found  she'd  grown  up  into  a  beauty  —  no  more  of  a 
beauty  than  my  sisters,  though  ;  but  she  was  a  girl 
of  enterprise  and  spirit.  I  don't  say  Madge  isn't 
that ;  but  she's  married  and  done  for.  But  Fanny 
—  well,  I  don't  see  anything  brilliant  in  store  for 
Fanny." 


NED   COMES  BACK.  137 

"What  has  she  to  do  with  the  affairs  of  your 
Irishman  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  nothing.  She's  a  different  kind  from  this 
Irish  lady.  For  what  did  that  girl  do,  after  her 
brother  had  seen  her  and  got  the  idea,  than  pack  up 
and  come  to  London  with  him.  And  he  showed  her 
around  so  well,  and  her  fine  looks  made  such  an 
impression,  that  within  three  months  he  had  her 
married  to  a  lord's  son  —  the  heir  to  Lord  Ilverton's 
estates  and  title.  And  now  she's  a  made  woman, 
and  he's  a  made  man,  and  what  do  you  think  of  that 
for  a  lucky  brother  and  a  clever  sister  ?  And  yet, 
compared  with  Fanny  — 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  interrupted  Philip,  in  a 
low  voice,  "  that  you  have  ever  thought  of  Fanny  as 
a  partner  in  such  a  plan  ? " 

"  Little  use  to  think  of  her,"  replied  Ned,  con 
temptuously.  "  She  hasn't  the  spirit.  I'm  afraid 
there  ain't  many  sisters  like  Mullaney's.  Poor  Fan 
wouldn't  even  listen  —  " 

"Did  you  dare  propose  it  to  her?"  said  Phil. 
My  own  feelings  were  too  strong  for  speech. 

"Dare!"  repeated  Ned.  "Why  not?  'Twould 
have  made  her  fortune  —  " 

"  Upon  my  word,"  put  in  Mr.  Cornelius,  no  longer 
able  to  contain  his  opinions,  "  I  never  heard  of  such 
rascality !  " 

Something  in  the  pedagogue's  tone,  I  suppose,  or 


138  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

in  Ned's  stage  of  tipsiness  at  the  moment,  gave  the 
speech  an  inflammatory  effect.  Ned  stared  a  moment 
at  the  speaker,  in  amazement.  Then  he  said,  with 
aroused  insolence  : 

"  What's  this,  Mr.  Parson  ?  What  have  you  to 
say  here  ?  My  sister  is  my  sister,  let  me  tell  you  — 

"  If  she  knew  you  as  well  as  I  do  now,"  retorted 
Cornelius,  quietly,  "  she  wouldn't  boast  of  the  rela 
tionship." 

"  What  the  devil ! "  cried  Ned,  in  an  elevated 
voice,  thus  drawing  the  attention  of  the  four  or  five 
other  people  in  the  room.  "  Who  is  this,  talks  of 
relationships  ?  You  cursed  parson-pedagogue  —  !  " 

"  Be  quiet,  Ned,"  warned  Philip.  "  Everybody 
hears  you." 

"  I  don't  care,"  replied  Ned,  rising,  and  again 
addressing  Cornelius.  "  Does  anybody  boast  of  rela 
tionships  to  you,  you  tow-headed  bumpkin  ?  Do  you 
think  you  can  call  me  to  account,  as  you  can  the 
scum  you  preach  to  on  the  wharves  ?  I'll  teach 
you !  " 

Whereat,  Cornelius  being  opposite  him,  Ned  vio 
lently  pushed  forward  the  table  so  as  to  carry  the 
tutor  over  backward  in  his  chair.  His  head  and  back 
struck  the  floor  heavily,  and  he  lay  supine  beneath 
the  upset  table. 

An  excited  crowd  instantly  surrounded  our  group. 
Philip  and  I  immediately  removed  the  table,  and 


NED    COMES  BACK.  139 

helped  Cornelius  to  his  feet.  The  pedagogue's  face 
was  afire  ;  his  fists  were  clenched  ;  his  chest  swelled  ; 
and  one  could  judge  from  his  wrists  what  sturdy 
arms  his  sleeves  encased.  As  he  advanced  upon 
Ned,  he  was  all  at  once  become  so  formidable  a 
figure  that  no  one  thought  to  interpose.  Ned  him 
self,  appalled  at  the  approaching  embodiment  of  anger 
and  strength,  retreated  a  foot  or  two  from  the  ex 
pected  blow.  Everybody  looked  to  see  him  stretched 
flat  in  a  moment  ;  when  Cornelius  suddenly  stopped, 
relaxed  his  muscles,  unclosed  his  fists,  and  said  to 
his  insulter,  in  a  quiet  but  virile  voice  quite  different 
from  that  of  his  usual  speech  : 

"  By  the  grace  of  God,  I  put  my  hands  behind  my 
back ;  for  I've  spoiled  handsomer  faces  than  yours, 
Edward  Faringfield !  " 

There  was  a  moment's  pause. 

"The  grace  of  God  has  no  such  effect  upon  me  !  " 
said  I,  rapping  Ned  over  the  mouth  with  the  back  of 
my  hand.  Before  the  matter  could  go  any  further, 
Philip  caught  my  arm,  and  Cornelius's,  and  hurried 
us  out  of  the  tavern. 

I  now  knew  what  had  broken  the  friendship 
between  Fanny  and  her  worthless  brother.  I  feared 
a  catastrophe  when  Mr.  Faringfield  should  learn  of 
the  occurrence  at  the  tavern.  But,  thanks  to  the 
silence  of  us  who  were  concerned,  and  to  the  charac 
ter  of  the  few  gentlemen  with  whom  he  deigned  to 


I4O  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

converse,  it  never  came  to  his  ears.  Ned,  restored 
to  his  senses,  and  fearing  for  his  maintenance,  made 
no  attempt  to  retaliate  my  blow ;  and  resumed  his 
weary  pretence  of  reformation.  But  years  afterward 
we  were  to  recall  his  story  of  the  Irishman's  sister. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

Enemies  in    War. 

As  this  is  not  a  history  of  the  war,  I  shall  not 
dwell  upon  the  talk  and  preparations  that  went  on 
during  the  weeks  ensuing  upon  our  eventful  Sunday : 
which  talk  was  common  to  both  parties,  but  which 
preparations  were  mainly  on  the  part  of  the  rebels, 
we  loyalists  awaiting  events  and  biding  the  return 
from  England  of  Governor  Tryon.  There  were  looks 
of  suspicion  exchanged,  and  among  the  more  violent 
and  uncouth  there  were  open  boasts  bandied,  open 
taunts  reciprocated,  and  open  threats  hurled  back  and 
forth.  Most  of  the  quality  of  the  town  were  on  the 
loyal  side  ;  but  yet  there  were  some  excellent  families 
—  such  as  the  Livingstones  —  who  stood  first  and 
last  among  the  so-called  Whigs.  This  was  the  case 
in  great  part  of  the  country,  the  wealth  and  culture, 
with  distinguished  exceptions,  being  for  the  king  and 
parliament ;  though,  I  must  own,  a  great  quantity  of 
the  brains  being  on  the  other  side :  but  in  Virginia 
and  her  Southerly  neighbours,  strange  to  say,  the 

aristocracy  largely,  though  not  entirely,  leaned  toward 

141 


142  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

revolt ;  for  what  reason  I  never  knew,  unless  it  was 
that  many  of  them,  descended  from  younger  sons  of 
good  English  stock  who  had  been  exiled  as  black 
sheep  or  ne'er-do-wells,  inherited  feelings  similar  to 
Mr.  Faringfield's.  Or  perhaps  'twas  indeed  a  pride, 
which  made  them  resentful  of  the  superiority  assumed 
by  native  Englishmen  over  them  as  colonists.  Or 
they  may  have  felt  that  they  should  actually  become 
slaves  in  submitting  to  be  taxed  by  a  parliament  in 
which  they  were  not  represented.  In  any  case,  they 
(like  Philip  Winwood  and  Mr.  Faringfield,  the 
Adamses  of  Boston,  and  thousands  of  others)  had 
motives  that  outweighed  in  them  the  sentiment  of 
loyalty,  the  passion  of  attachment  to  the  land  whence 
we  had  drawn  our  race  and  still  drew  our  culture  and 
all  our  refinements  and  graces.  This  sentiment,  and 
this  passion,  made  it  impossible  for  Tom  Faringfield 
and  me  to  see  any  other  course  for  us  than  undeviating 
fidelity  to  the  king  and  the  mother-country.  There 
were  of  course  some  loyalists  (or  Tories,  if  you  prefer 
that  name)  who  took  higher  views  than  arose  from 
their  mere  affections,  and  who  saw  harm  for  America 
in  any  revolt  from  English  government ;  and  there 
were  others,  doubtless,  whose  motives  were  entirely 
low  and  selfish,  such  as  holders  of  office  under  the 
crown,  and  men  who  had  powers  and  privileges  of 
which  any  change  of  system,  any  disturbance  of  the 
royal  authority,  might  deprive  them.  It  was  Philip 


ENEMIES  IN   WAR.  143 

who  called  my  attention  to  this  last  class,  and  to  the 
effect  its  existence  must  have  on  the  common  people 
in  the  crisis  then  present. 

"  The  colonists  of  America  are  not  like  any  other 
people,"  said  he.  "  Their  fathers  came  to  this  land 
when  it  was  a  savage  wilderness,  tearing  themselves 
from  their  homes,  from  civil  surroundings ;  that  they 
might  be  far  from  tyranny,  in  small  forms  as  well  as 
great.  Not  merely  tyranny  of  king  or  church,  but 
the  shapes  of  it  that  Hamlet  speaks  of  —  '  the  oppress 
or's  wrong,  the  proud  man's  contumely,  the  insolence 
of  office.'  All  for  the  sake  of  liberty,  they  battled 
with  savages  and  with  nature,  fought  and  toiled,  bled 
and  starved.  And  Tyranny  ignored  them  till  they 
had  transformed  their  land  and  themselves  into  some 
thing  worth  its  attention.  And  then,  backed  and 
sustained  by  royal  authority,  those  hated  things  stole 
in  upon  them  —  '  the  insolence  of  office,  the  proud 
man's  contumely,  the  oppressor's  wrong.'  This, 
lookye,  besides  the  particular  matter  of  taxation  with 
out  representation  ;  of  being  bid  to  obey  laws  they 
have  no  hand  in  making  ;  of  having  a  set  of  masters, 
three  thousand  miles  away,  and  not  one  of  their  own 
land  or  their  own  choosing,  order  them  to  do  thus 
and  so  :  —  why,  'twere  the  very  soul  and  essence  of 
slavery  to  submit  !  Man,  how  can  you  wonder  I  am 
of  their  side  ?  " 

"  And  with  your  taste  for  the  things  to  be  found 


144  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

only  in  the  monarchies  of  Europe ;  for  the  arts,  and 
the  monuments  of  past  history,  the  places  hallowed 
by  great  events  and  great  men ! "  said  I,  quoting 
remembered  expressions  of  his  own. 

"  Why,"  says  he,  smiling  a  little  regretfully,  "  we 
shall  have  our  own  arts  and  hallowed  places  some 
day ;  meanwhile  one's  taste  must  defer  to  one's  heart 
and  one's  intelligence." 

"Yes,"  said  I,  with  malicious  derision,  "when  'tis 
so  great  a  question  as  a  paltry  tax  upon  tea." 

"  'Tis  no  such  thing,"  says  he,  warming  up  ;  "  'tis 
a  question  of  being  taxed  one  iota,  the  thousandth 
part  of  a  farthing,  by  a  body  of  strangers,  a  body  in 
which  we  are  not  represented." 

"  Neither  were  we  represented  in  it  when  it  sent 
armies  to  protect  us  from  the  French,  and  toward 
the  cost  of  which  'tis  right  we  should  pay." 

"We  paid,  in  men  and  money  both.  And  the 
armies  were  sent  less  for  our  protection  than  for 
the  aggrandisement  of  England.  She  was  fighting 
the  French  the  world  over ;  in  America,  as  else 
where,  the  only  difference  being  that  in  America  we 
helped  her." 

So  'twas  disputed  between  many  another  pair  of 
friends,  between  brothers,  between  fathers  and  sons, 
husbands  and  wives.  I  do  not  know  of  another  civil 
war  that  made  as  many  breaks  in  families.  Mean 
while,  the  local  authorities  —  those  of  local  election, 


ENEMIES  IN   WAR.  145 

not  of  royal  appointment  —  were  yet  outwardly  non 
committal.  When  Colonel  Washington,  the  general- 
in-chief  appointed  by  the  congress  of  the  colonies  at 
Philadelphia,  was  to  pass  through  New  York  on  his 
way  to  Cambridge,  where  the  New  England  rebels 
were  surrounding  the  king's  troops  in  Boston,  it 
was  known  that  Governor  Tryon  would  arrive  from 
England  about  the  same  time.  Our  authorities, 
rather  than  seem  to  favour  one  side,  sent  a  com 
mittee  to  New  Jersey  to  meet  the  rebel  commander 
and  escort  him  through  the  town,  and  immediately 
thereafter  paid  a  similar  attention  to  the  royal  gov 
ernor.  One  of  those  who  had  what  they  considered 
the  honour  of  riding  behind  Mr.  Washington  a  part 
of  his  way  (he  came  accompanied  by  a  troop  of 
horse  from  Philadelphia,  and  made  a  fine,  command 
ing  figure,  I  grant)  was  Philip  Winwood.  When  he 
returned  from  Kingsbridge,  I,  pretending  I  had  not 
gone  out  of  my  way  to  see  the  rebel  generalissimo 
pass,  met  him  with  a  smile,  as  if  to  make  a  joke  of 
all  the  rebel  preparations  : 

"  Well,"  says  I,  "  what  manner  of  hero  is  your  illus 
trious  chief  ?  A  very  Julius  Caesar,  I  make  no  doubt." 

"A  grave  and  modest  gentleman,"  says  Phil,  "and 
worthy  of  all  the  admiration  you  used  to  have  for 
him  when  we  would  talk  of  the  French  War.  I 
remember  you  would  say  he  was  equal  to  all  the 
regular  English  officers  together ;  and  how  you  de- 


146  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

clared  Governor  Shirley  was  a  fool  for  not  giving 
him  a  king's  commission." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  'tis  a  thousand  to  one,  that  if 
Colonel  Washington  hadn't  been  disappointed  of  a 
king's  commission,  he  wouldn't  now  be  leader  of  the 
king's  enemies."  I  knew  I  had  no  warrant  the 
slightest  for  attributing  Mr.  Washington's  patriotism 
to  such  a  petty  motive  as  a  long-cherished  resent 
ment  of  royal  neglect ;  and  years  afterward,  in 
London,  I  was  to  chastise  an  equally  reckless  speaker 
for  a  similar  slander ;  but  I  was  young  and  partisan, 
and  being  nettled  by  the  reminder  of  my  inconsistency, 
spoke  to  irritate. 

"  That  is  a  lie ! "  said  Phil,  quietly,  looking  me 
straight  in  the  face. 

Such  a  word  from  Philip  made  me  stare  in  amaze 
ment  ;  but  it  did  not  improve  my  temper,  or  incline 
me  to  acknowledge  the  injustice  I  had  uttered. 
My  face  burned,  my  fingers  clenched.  But  it  was 
Philip  that  had  spoken ;  and  a  thing  or  two  flashed 
into  my  mind  in  the  pause ;  and,  controlling  myself, 
I  let  out  a  long  breath,  opened  my  fists,  and,  with 
the  best  intentions  in  the  world,  and  with  the  quiet 
est  voice,  gave  him  a  blow  far  more  severe  than  a 
blow  of  the  fist  had  been. 

"I  will  take  that  from  you,  Phil,"  said  I:  "God 
knows,  your  stand  in  this  rebellion  has  caused  you 
enough  unhappiness." 


ENEMIES  IN   WAR.  147 

He  winced,  and  sent  me  a  startled  look,  stung  at 
my  alluding  to  the  estrangement  of  his  wife.  I  know 
not  whether  he  took  it  as  a  taunt  from  so  dear  a 
friend,  or  whether  the  mere  mention  of  so  delicate 
a  sorrow  was  too  much  for  him  ;  but  his  face  twitched, 
and  he  gave  a  swallow,  and  was  hard  put  to  it  to 
hold  back  the  tears. 

"Forgive  me,"  I  said,  stricken  to  the  heart  at 
sight  of  this.  "  I  am  your  friend  always,  Phil."  I 
put  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and  his  face  turned  to 
a  kindly  expression  of  pardon,  a  little  short  of  the 
smile  he  dared  not  yet  trust  himself  to  attempt. 

Margaret's  demeanour  to  him,  indeed,  had  not 
shown  the  smallest  softening.  But  to  the  rest  of 
the  world,  after  the  immediate  effects  of  that  Sunday 
scene  had  worn  off,  she  seemed  vastly  more  sparkling 
and  fascinating  than  ever  before  :  whether  she  was 
really  so,  and  of  intention,  or  whether  the  appear 
ance  was  from  contrast  with  her  treatment  of  Philip, 
I  dare  not  say.  But  the  impression  was  Philip's,  I 
think,  as  well  as  every  one's  else ;  and  infinitely  it 
multiplied  the  sorrow  of  which  he  would  not  speak, 
but  which  his  countenance  could  not  conceal.  When 
the  news  of  the  affair  at  Bunker's  Hill  was  discussed 
at  the  supper-table  one  evening  in  June,  I  being 
present,  and  Margaret  heard  how  bravely  the  British 
charged  the  third  and  successful  time  up  to  the  rebel 
works,  after  being  hurled  back  twice  by  a  very  hell 


148  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

of  musketry,  she  dropped  her  fork,  and  clapped  her 
hands,  crying : 

"  Bravo,  bravo  !  'Tis  such  men  that  grow  in  Eng 
land.  I  could  love  every  one  of  'em  !  " 

"  Brave  men,  I  allow,"  said  Philip ;  "  but  as  for 
their  victory,  'twas  but  a  technical  one,  if  accounts 
be  true.  Their  loss  was  greater  than  ours  ;  and  the 
fight  proved  that  Americans  can  stand  before  British 
regulars." 

Margaret  paid  no  more  notice  than  if  Philip  had 
not  spoken  —  'twas  her  practice  now  to  ignore  his 
speeches  not  directed  to  herself  alone  —  and  when 
he  had  done,  she  said,  blithely,  to  one  of  the  young 
De  Lanceys,  who  was  a  guest : 

"  And  so  they  drove  the  Yankees  out !  And  what 
then,  cousin  ? " 

"Why,  that  was  all.  But  as  for  the  men  that 
grow  in  England,  you'll  find  some  of  us  grown  in 
America  quite  as  ready  to  fight  for  the  king,  if  mat 
ters  go  on.  Only  wait  till  Governor  Tryon  sets  about 
calling  for  loyal  regiments.  We  shall  be  falling  over 
one  another  in  the  scramble  to  volunteer.  But  I 
mean  to  be  first." 

"  Good,  cousin  !  "  she  cried.  "  You  may  kiss  my 
hand  for  that  —  nay,  my  cheek,  if  I  could  reach  it  to 
you." 

"  Faith,"  said  De  Lancey,  after  gallantly  touching 
her  fingers  with  his  lips,  "if  all  the  ladies  in  New 


ENEMIES  IN  WAR.  149 

York  had  such  hands,  and  offered  'em  to  be  kissed 
by  each  recruit  for  the  king,  there'd  be  no  man  left 
to  fight  on  the  rebel  side." 

"Why,  his  Majesty  is  welcome  to  my  two  hands 
for  the  purpose,  and  my  face,  too,"  she  rattled  on. 
"  But  some  of  our  New  York  rebels  were  going  to 
do  great  things  :  'tis  two  months  now,  and  yet  we 
see  nothing  of  their  doings." 

"  Have  a  little  patience,  madam,"  said  Philip,  very 
quietly.  "  We  rebels  may  be  further  advanced  in 
our  arrangements  than  is  known  in  all  quarters." 

The  truth  of  this  was  soon  evident.  In  the  open 
spaces  of  the  town  —  the  parade-ground  (or  Bowling 
Green)  outside  the  fort ;  the  common  at  the  head  of 
the  town  ;  before  the  very  barracks  in  Chambers 
Street  that  had  just  been  vacated  by  the  last  of  the 
royal  troops  in  New  York,  they  having  sailed  for 
Boston  rather  for  their  own  safety  than  to  swell  the 
army  there — there  was  continual  instructing  and 
drilling  of  awkward  Whigs.  Organisation  had  pro 
ceeded  throughout  the  province,  whose  entire  rebel 
force  was  commanded  by  Mr.  Philip  Schuyler,  of 
Albany ;  subordinate  to  whom  was  Mr.  Richard 
Montgomery,  an  Irish  gentleman  who  had  first  set 
foot  in  America  at  Louisbourg,  as  a  king's  officer, 
and  who  now  resided  beyond  Kingsbridge. 

It  was  under  Montgomery  that  Philip  Winwood 
took  service,  enlisting  as  a  private  soldier,  but  soon 


150  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

revealing  such  knowledge  of  military  matters  that  he 
was  speedily,  in  the  off-hand  manner  characteristic 
of  improvised  armies,  made  a  lieutenant.  This  was 
a  little  strange,  seeing  that  there  was  a  mighty 
scramble  for  commissions,  nine  out  of  every  ten 
patriots,  however  raw,  clamouring  to  be  officers ; 
and  it  shows  that  sometimes  (though  'tis  not  often) 
modest  merit  will  win  as  well  as  self-assertive  incom 
petence.  Philip  had  obtained  his  acquaintance  with 
military  forms  from  books  ;  he  was,  in  his  ability  to 
assimilate  the  matter  of  a  book,  an  exception  among 
men  ;  and  a  still  greater  exception  in  his  ability  to 
apply  that  matter  practically.  Indeed,  it  sometimes 
seemed  that  he  could  get  out  of  a  book  not  only  all 
that  was  in  it,  but  more  than  was  in  it.  Many  will 
not  believe  what  I  have  related  of  him,  that  he  had 
actually  learned  the  rudiments  of  fencing,  the  sol 
dier's  manual  of  arms,  the  routine  of  camp  and 
march,  and  such  things,  from  reading ;  but  it  is  a 
fact :  just  as  it  is  true  that  Greene,  the  best  general 
of  the  rebels  after  Washington,  learned  military  law, 
routine,  tactics,  and  strategy,  from  books  he  read  at 
the  fire  of  the  forge  where  he  worked  as  blacksmith  ; 
and  that  the  men  whom  he  led  to  Cambridge,  from 
Rhode  Island,  were  the  best  disciplined,  equipped, 
uniformed,  and  maintained,  of  the  whole  Yankee 
army  at  that  time.  As  for  Philip's  gift  of  translat 
ing  printed  matter  into  actuality,  I  remember  how, 


ENEMIES  IN   WAR.  151 

when  we  afterward  came  to  visit  strange  cities  to 
gether,  he  would  find  his  way  about  without  a  ques 
tion,  like  an  old  resident,  through  having  merely  read 
descriptions  of  the  places. 

But  rank  did  not  come  unsought,  or  otherwise,  to 
Philip's  fellow  volunteer  from  the  Faringfield  house, 
Mr.  Cornelius.  The  pedagogue,  with  little  to  say  on 
the  subject,  took  the  rebel  side  as  a  matter  of  course, 
Presbyterians  being,  it  seems,  republican  in  their 
nature.  He  went  as  a  private  in  the  same  company 
with  Philip. 

It  was  planned  that  the  rebel  troops  of  New 
York  province  should  invade  Canada  by  way  of 
Lake  George,  while  the  army  under  Washington 
continued  the  siege  of  Boston.  Philip  went  through 
the  form  of  arranging  that  his  wife  should  remain  at 
her  father's  house  —  the  only  suitable  home  for  her, 
indeed  —  during  his  absence  in  the  field;  and  so,  in 
the  Summer  of  1775,  upon  a  day  much  like  that 
in  which  he  had  first  come  to  us  twelve  years  before, 
it  was  ours  to  wish  him  for  a  time  farewell. 

Mr.  Faringfield  and  his  lady,  with  Fanny  and  Tom, 
stood  in  the  hall,  and  my  mother  and  I  had  joined 
them  there,  when  Philip  came  down-stairs  in  his  new 
blue  regimentals.  He  wore  his  sword,  but  it  was  not 
his  wife  that  had  buckled  it  on.  There  had  been  no 
change  in  her  manner  toward  him :  he  was  still  to 
her  but  as  a  strange  guest  in  the  house,  rather  to  be 


152  PHILIP   WINWOOD. 

disdained  than  treated  with  the  courtesy  due  even  to 
a  strange  guest.  We  all  asked  ourselves  what  her 
farewell  would  be,  but  none  mentioned  the  thought. 
As  Phil  came  into  view  at  the  first  landing,  he  sent 
a  quick  glance  among  us  to  see  if  she  was  there. 
For  a  moment  his  face  was  struck  into  a  sadly  for 
lorn  expression  ;  but,  as  if  by  chance,  she  came  out 
of  the  larger  parlour  at  that  moment,  and  his  counte 
nance  revived  almost  into  hope.  The  rest  of  us  had 
already  said  our  good-byes  to  Mr.  Cornelius,  who  now 
stood  waiting  for  Philip.  As  the  latter  reached  the 
foot  of  the  stairs,  Margaret  suddenly  turned  to  the 
pedagogue,  to  add  her  civility  to  ours,  for  she  had 
always  liked  the  bashful  fellow,  and  his  joining  the 
rebels  was  to  her  a  matter  of  indifference  —  it  did  not 
in  any  way  affect  her  own  pleasure.  This  movement 
on  her  part  made  it  natural  that  Philip's  first  leave- 
taking  should  be  of  Mr.  Faringfield,  who,  seeing  Mar 
garet  occupied,  went  forward  and  grasped  Phil's  hand. 

"  God  bless  thee,  lad,"  said  he,  showing  the  depth 
of  his  feelings  as  much  by  a  tenderness  very  odd  in 
so  cold  a  man,  as  by  reverting  to  the  old  pronoun 
now  becoming  obsolete  except  with  Quakers,  "  and 
bring  thee  safe  out  of  it  all,  and  make  thy  cause 
victorious !  " 

"  Good-bye,  Philip,"  said  Mrs.  Faringfield,  with 
some  betrayal  of  affection,  "and  heaven  bring  you 
back  to  us  !  " 


ENEMIES  IN   WAR.  153 

Fanny's  farewell,  though  spoken  with  a  voice  more 
tremulous  and  eyes  more  humid,  was  in  the  same 
strain ;  and  so  was  that  of  my  mother,  though  she 
could  not  refrain  from  adding,  "  'Tis  such  a  pity  !  " 
and  wishing  that  so  handsome  a  soldier  was  on  the 
right  side. 

"  Good-bye  and  good  luck,  dear  old  Phil !  "  was  all 
that  Tom  said. 

"  And  so  say  I,"  I  put  in,  taking  his  hand  in  my 
turn,  and  trying  not  to  show  my  discomposure, 
"  meaning  to  yourself,  but  not  to  your  cause.  Well 
—  dear  lad  —  heaven  guard  you,  and  give  you  a 
speedy  return  !  For  your  sake  and  ours,  may  the 
whole  thing  be  over  before  your  campaign  is  begun. 
I  should  like  to  see  a  war,  and  be  in  one  —  but  not 
a  war  like  this,  that  makes  enemies  of  you  and  me. 
Good-bye,  Phil  —  and  come  back  safe  and  sound." 

'Twas  Margaret's  time  now,  for  Ned  was  not 
present.  There  was  a  pause,  as  Phil  turned  ques- 
tioningly  —  nay  wistfully  —  toward  her.  She  met  his 
look  calmly.  Old  Noah  and  some  of  the  negroes, 
who  had  pressed  forward  to  see  Phil's  departure  from 
the  house,  were  waiting  for  her  to  speak,  that  they 
might  afterward  call  out  their  Godspeed. 

"  Good-bye ! "  she  said,  at  last,  holding  out  her 
hand  indifferently. 

He  took  the  hand,  bent  over  it,  pressed  it  with 
his  lips.  Then  he  looked  at  her  again.  I  think  she 


154  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

must  have  shown  just  the  slightest  yielding,  given 
just  the  least  permission,  in  her  eyes  ;  for  he  went 
nearer,  and  putting  his  arm  around  her,  gently  drew 
her  close  to  him,  and  looked  down  at  her.  Suddenly 
she  turned  her  face  up,  and  pursed  her  lips.  With 
a  look  of  gladness,  he  passionately  kissed  her. 

"God  bless  you,  my  dear  wife,"  he  whispered; 
and  then,  as  if  by  expecting  more  he  might  court  a 
disappointment  to  mar  the  memory  of  that  leave- 
taking,  he  released  her,  and  said  to  us  all  :  "  Take 
care  of  her,  I  pray  ! "  whereupon,  abruptly  turning, 
he  hastened  out  of  the  open  door,  waving  back  his 
hat  in  response  to  our  chorus  of  good-byes,  and  the 
loud  "Go'  bless  you,  Massa  Philip!"  of  the 
negroes. 

We  followed  quickly  to  the  porch,  to  look  after 
him.  But  he  strode  off  so  fast  that  Cornelius  had 
to  run  to  keep  up  with  him.  He  did  not  once  look 
back,  even  when  he  passed  out  of  sight  at  the  street 
corner.  I  believe  he  divined  that  his  wife  would 
not  be  among  those  looking  after,  and  that  he  wished 
not  to  interpose  any  other  last  impression  of  his  dear 
home  than  that  of  her  kiss. 

When  we  came  back  into  the  hall,  she  had  flown. 
Later,  as  my  mother  and  I  went  through  the  garden 
homeward,  passing  beneath  Margaret's  open  windows, 
we  heard  her  weeping  —  not  violently,  but  steadily, 
monotonously,  as  if  she  had  a  long  season  of  the 


ENEMIES  IN   WAR.  155 

past  to  regret,  a  long  portion  of  the  future  to  sor 
row  for.  And  here  let  me  say  that  I  think  Margaret, 
from  first  to  last,  loved  Philip  with  more  tenderness 
than  she  was  capable  of  bestowing  upon  any  one 
else ;  with  an  affection  so  deep  that  sometimes  it 
might  be  obscured  by  counter  feelings  playing  over 
the  surface  of  her  heart,  so  deep  that  often  she 
might  not  be  conscious  of  its  presence,  but  so  deep 
that  it  might  never  be  uprooted  :  —  and  'twas  that 
which  made  things  the  more  pitiful. 

Tom  and  I  went  out,  with  a  large  number  of  the 
town's  people,  to  watch  the  rebel  soldiers  depart, 
and  we  saw  Philip  with  his  company,  and  exchanged 
with  him  a  smile  and  a  wave  of  the  hat.  How  little 
we  thought  that  one  of  us  he  was  never  to  meet 
again,  that  the  other  he  was  not  to  see  in  many 
years,  and  that  four  of  those  years  were  to  pass  ere 
he  should  set  foot  again  in  Queen  Street. 

Many  things,  to  be  swiftly  passed  over  in  my 
history,  occurred  in  those  four  years.  One  of 
these,  the  most  important  to  me,  happened  a  short 
time  after  Philip's  departure  for  the  North.  It  was 
a  brief  conversation  with  Fanny,  and  it  took  place 
upon  the  wayside  walk  at  what  they  call  the  Battery, 
at  the  green  Southern  end  of  the  town,  where  it  is 
brought  to  a  rounded  point  by  the  North  and  East 
Rivers  approaching  each  other  as  they  flow  into  the 
bay.  To  face  the  gentle  breeze,  I  stopped  and  turned 


156  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

so  we  might  look  Southward  over  the  bay,  toward 
where,  at  the  distant  Narrows,  Long  Island  and 
Staten  Island  seem  to  meet  and  close  it  in. 

"  I  don't  like  to  look  out  yonder,"  said  Fanny. 
"  It  makes  me  imagine  I'm  away  on  the  ocean,  by 
myself.  And  it  seems  so  lonely." 

"  Why,  you  poor  child,"  replied  I,  "  'tis  a  sin  you 
should  ever  feel  lonely ;  you  do  so  much  to  prevent 
others  being  so."  I  turned  my  back  upon  the  bay, 
and  led  her  past  the  fort,  toward  the  Broadway. 
"  You  see,"-  said  I,  abruptly,  glancing  at  her  brown 
eyes,  which  dropped  in  a  charming  confusion,  "  how 
much  you  need  a  comrade."  I  remember  I  was 
not  entirely  unconfused  myself  at  that  moment,  for 
inspiration  had  suddenly  shown  me  my  opportunity, 
and  how  to  use  it,  and  some  inward  trepidation 
was  inseparable  from  a  plunge  into  the  matter  I 
was  now  resolved  upon  going  through. 

"Why,"  says  she,  blushing,  and  seeming,  as  she 
walked,  to  take  a  great  interest  in  her  pretty  feet, 
"  I  have  several  comrades  as  it  is." 

"  Yes.  But  I  mean  one  that  should  devote  him 
self  to  you  alone.  Philip  has  Margaret ;  and  besides, 
he  is  gone  now,  and  so  is  Mr.  Cornelius.  And  Tom 
will  be  finding  a  wife  some  day,  and  your  parents 
cannot  live  for  ever,  and  your  friends  will  be  married 
one  after  another." 

"  Poor  me ! "  says  she,  with  a  sigh  of  comic  wo- 


ENEMIES  IN  WAR.  157 

fulness.  "  How  helpless  and  alone  you  make  me 
feel ! " 

"  Not  so  entirely  alone,  neither !  There's  one  I 
didn't  mention." 

"  And  that  one,  too,  I  suppose,  will  be  running  off 
some  day." 

"  No.  He,  like  Tom,  will  be  seeking  a  wife  some 
day ;  perhaps  sooner  than  Tom  ;  perhaps  very  soon 
indeed  ;  perhaps  this  very  minute." 

"  Oh,  Bert !  —  What  nonsense  !  Don't  look  at  me 
so,  here  in  the  street  —  people  will  take  notice." 

"  What  do  I  care  for  people  ?  Let  the  fellows  all 
see,  and  envy  me,  if  you'll  give  me  what  I  ask. 
What  say  you,  dearest  ?  Speak  ;  tell  me !  Nay,  if 
you  won't,  I'll  make  you  blush  all  the  more  —  I  love 
you,  I  love  you,  I  love  you  !  Now  will  you  speak  ? " 

"  Oh,  Bert,  dear,  at  least  wait  till  we  are  home ! " 

"  If  you'll  promise  to  say  yes  then." 

"  Very  well  —  if  'twill  please  you." 

"  Nay,  it  must  be  to  please  yourself  too.  You  do 
love  me  a  little,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course  I  do  ;  and  you  must  have  known 
it  all  the  time  !  " 

But,  alas,  her  father's  "yes"  was  not  so  easily  to 
be  won.  I  broached  the  matter  to  him  that  very 
evening  (Fanny  and  I  meanwhile  having  come  to  a 
fuller  understanding  in  the  seclusion  of  the  garden) ; 
but  he  shook  his  head,  and  regarded  me  coldly. 


158  PHILIP    WINIVOOD. 

"No,  sir,"  said  he.  "For,  however  much  you  are 
to  be  esteemed  as  a  young  gentleman  of  honour  and 
candour  and  fine  promise,  'tis  for  me  to  consider  you 
rather  as  an  adherent  of  a  government  that  has 
persecuted  my  country,  and  now  makes  war  upon 
it.  The  day  may  come  when  you  will  find  a  more 
congenial  home  nearer  the  crown  you  have  already 
expressed  your  desire  to  fight  for.  And  then,  if 
Fanny  were  your  wife,  you  would  carry  her  off  to 
make  an  Englishwoman  of  her,  as  my  first  daughter 
would  have  been  carried  by  her  husband,  upon  dif 
ferent  motives,  but  for  this  war.  Perhaps  'twere 
better  she  could  have  gone,"  he  added,  with  a  sigh, 
for  Margaret  had  been  his  favourite  child  ;  "  my  loss 
of  her  could  scarce  have  been  more  complete  than  it 
is.  But  'tis  not  so  with  Fanny." 

"  But,  sir,  I  am  not  to  take  it  that  you  refuse  me, 
definitely,  finally  ?  —  I  beg  —  " 

"  Nay,  sir,  I  only  say  that  we  must  wait.  Let  us 
see  what  time  shall  bring  to  pass.  I  believe  that 
you  will  not  —  and  I  am  sure  that  Fanny  will  not  — 
endeavour  any  act  without  my  consent,  or  against  my 
wish.  Nay,  I  don't  bid  you  despair,  neither.  Time 
shall  determine." 

I  was  not  so  confident  that  I  would  not  endeavour 
any  act  without  his  consent  ;  but  I  shared  his  cer 
tainty  that  Fanny  would  not.  And  so,  in  despond 
ency,  I  took  the  news  to  her. 


ENEMIES  IN   WAR.  159 

"  Well,"  says  she,  with  a  sigh.  "  We  must  wait, 
that's  all." 

While  we  were  waiting,  and  during  the  Fall  and 
Winter,  we  heard  now  and  then  from  Philip,  for 
communication  was  still  possible  between  New  York 
and  the  rebel  army  proceeding  toward  Canada.  He 
wrote  Margaret  letters  of  which  the  rest  of  us  never 
saw  the  contents ;  but  he  wrote  to  Mr.  Faringfield 
and  me  also.  His  history  during  this  time  was  that 
of  his  army,  of  which  we  got  occasional  news  from 
other  sources.  During  part  of  September  and  all  of 
October  it  was  besieging  St.  John's,  which  capitu 
lated  early  in  November.  Schuyler's  ill-health  had 
left  the  supreme  active  command  to  Montgomery. 
The  army  pushed  on,  and  occupied  Montreal,  though 
it  failed  to  capture  Governor  Carleton  ;  who  escaped 
to  Quebec  in  a  boat,  by  ingeniously  disguising  him 
self  as  a  countryman.  At  Montreal  the  jealousies 
and  quarrels  of  officers,  so  summarily  created  such, 
gave  Montgomery  much  trouble,  and  when  he  set 
forward  for  Quebec,  there  to  join  the  force  sent 
under  Arnold  through  the  Maine  wilderness  from 
the  rebel  main  army  at  Cambridge,  he  could  take 
with  him  but  three  hundred  men  —  so  had  the 
patriot  warriors  of  New  York  fallen  off  in  zeal  and 
numbers !  But  you  may  be  sure  it  was  not  from 
Philip's  letters  that  we  got  these  items  disadvan 
tageous  to  his  cause. 


l6o  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

Our  last  word  from  him  was  when  he  was  in  quar 
ters  before  Quebec :  Cornelius  was  with  him  ;  and 
they  were  having  a  cold  and  snowy  time  of  it,  wait 
ing  for  Quebec  to  fall  before  them.  He  mentioned 
casually  that  he  had  been  raised  to  a  captaincy :  we 
afterward  learned  that  this  was  for  brave  conduct 
upon  the  occasion  of  a  sally  of  Scotch  troops  from 
one  of  the  gates  of  Quebec  to  cut  off  a  mortar  bat 
tery  and  a  body  of  riflemen  ;  Philip  had  not  only 
saved  the  battery  and  the  riflemen,  but  had  made 
prisoners  of  the  sallying  party. 

Late  in  the  Winter  —  that  is  to  say,  early  in  1776 
—  we  learned  of  the  dire  failure  of  the  night  attack 
made  by  the  combined  forces  of  Montgomery  and 
Arnold  upon  Quebec  at  the  end  of  December,  1775  ; 
that  Arnold  had  been  wounded,  his  best  officers 
taken  prisoners,  and  Montgomery  killed.  The  first 
reports  said  nothing  of  Winwood.  When  Margaret 
heard  the  news,  she  turned  white  as  a  sheet ;  and 
at  this  triumph  of  British  arms  my  joy  was  far  out 
weighed,  Mr.  Faringfield's  grief  multiplied,  by  fears 
lest  Philip,  who  we  knew  would  shirk  no  danger,  had 
met  a  fate  similar  to  his  commander's.  But  subse 
quent  news  told  us  that  he  was  a  prisoner,  though 
severely  wounded.  We  comforted  ourselves  with 
considering  that  he  was  like  to  receive  good  nursing 
from  the  French  nuns  of  Quebec.  And  eventually 
we  found  the  name  of  Captain  Winwood  in  a  list 


ENEMIES  IN   WAR.  l6l 

of  rebel  prisoners  who  were  to  be  exchanged  ;  from 
which,  as  a  long  time  had  passed,  we  inferred  that 
he  was  now  recovered  of  his  injuries ;  whereupon 
Margaret,  who  had  never  spoken  of  him,  or  shown 
her  solicitude  other  than  by  an  occasional  dispirited 
self-abstraction,  regained  all  her  gaiety  and  was  soon 
her  old,  charming  self  again.  In  due  course,  we 
learned  that  the  exchange  of  prisoners  had  been 
effected,  and  that  a  number  of  officers  (among 
whom  was  Captain  Winwood)  had  departed  from 
Quebec,  bound  whither  we  were  not  informed  ;  and 
after  that  we  lost  track  of  him  for  many  and  many  a 
month. 

Meanwhile,  the  war  had  made  itself  manifest  in 
New  York  :  at  first  distantly,  as  by  the  passage  of 
a  few  rebel  companies  from  Pennsylvania  and  Vir 
ginia  through  the  town  on  their  way  to  Cambridge ; 
by  continued  enlistments  for  the  rebel  cause ;  by  the 
presence  of  a  small  rebel  force  of  occupation  ;  and 
by  quiet  enrolments  of  us  loyalists  for  service  when 
our  time  should  come.  But  in  the  beginning  of  the 
warm  weather  of  1776,  the  war  became  apparent  in 
its  own  shape.  The  king's  troops  under  Sir  William 
Howe  had  at  last  evacuated  Boston  and  sailed  to 
Halifax,  taking  with  them  a  host  of  loyalists,  whose 
flight  was  held  up  to  us  New  York  Tories  as  pro 
phetic  of  our  own  fate.  Washington  now  supposed, 
rightly,  that  General  Howe  intended  presently  to 


1 62  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

occupy  New  York  ;  and  so  down  upon  our  town, 
and  the  island  on  which  it  was,  and  upon  Long 
Island,  came  the  rebel  main  army  from  Cambridge ; 
and  brought  some  very  bad  manners  with  it,  for  all 
that  there  never  was  a  finer  gentleman  in  the  world 
than  was  at  its  head,  and  that  I  am  bound  to  own 
some  of  his  officers  and  men  to  have  been  worthy  of 
him  in  good  breeding.  Here  the  army  was  reinforced 
by  regiments  from  the  middle  and  Southern  prov 
inces  ;  and  for  awhile  we  loyalists  kept  close  mouths. 
Margaret,  indeed,  for  the  time,  ceased  altogether  to 
be  a  loyalist,  in  consequence  of  the  gallantry  of 
certain  officers  in  blue  and  buff,  and  several  Vir 
ginia  dragoons  in  blue  and  red,  with  whom  she  was 
brought  into  acquaintance  through  her  father's 
attachment  to  the  rebel  interest.  She  expanded  and 
grew  brilliant  in  the  sunshine  of  admiration  (she 
had  even  a  smile  and  compliment  from  Washington 
himself,  at  a  ball  in  honour  of  the  rebel  declara 
tion  of  independence)  in  which  she  lived  during 
the  time  when  New  York  abounded  with  rebel 
troops. 

But  that  was  a  short  time ;  for  the  British  disem 
barked  upon  Long  Island,  met  Washington's  army 
there  and  defeated  it,  so  that  it  had  to  slip  back  to 
New  York  in  boats  by  night ;  then  landed  above  the 
town,  almost  in  time  to  cut  it  off  as  it  fled  North 
ward  ;  fought  part  of  it  on  the  heights  of  Harlem  ; 


ENEMIES  IN    WAR.  163 

kept  upon  its  heels  in  Westchester  County ;  en 
countered  it  again  near  White  Plains ;  and  came 
back  triumphant  to  winter  in  and  about  New 
York.  And  now  we  loyalists  and  the  rebel  sym 
pathisers  exchanged  tunes  ;  and  Margaret  was 
as  much  for  the  king  again  as  ever — she  never 
cared  two  pins  for  either  cause,  I  fancy,  save  as 
it  might,  for  the  time  being,  serve  her  desire  to 
shine. 

She  was  radiant  and  joyous,  and  made  no  attempt 
to  disguise  her  feelings,  when  it  was  a  settled  fact 
that  the  British  army  should  occupy  New  York 
indefinitely. 

"Tis  glorious!"  said  she,  dancing  up  and  down 
the  parlour  before  Tom  and  me.  "This  will  be  some 
relief  from  dulness,  some  consolation  !  .The  town 
will  be  full  of  gallant  generals  and  colonels,  hand 
some  majors,  dashing  captains  ;  there  are  lords  and 
baronets  among  'em  ;  they'll  be  quartered  in  all  the 
good  houses ;  there  will  be  fine  uniforms,  regimental 
bands,  and  balls  and  banquets  !  Why,  I  can  quite 
endure  this !  War  has  its  compensations.  We'll 
have  a  merry  winter  of  it,  young  gentlemen  !  Sure 
'twill  be  like  a  glimpse  of  London." 

"  And  there'll  be  much  opportunity  for  vain  ladies 
to  have  their  heads  turned !  "  quoth  Tom,  half  in 
jest,  half  in  disapproval. 

"I  know  nothing  of  that,"  says  she,  "but   I  do 


164  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

know  whose  sister  will   be  the  toast  of  the  British 
Army  before  a  month  is  past !  " 

If  the  king's  troops  acquired  a  toast  upon  entering 
New  York,  the  rebels  had  gained  a  volunteer  upon 
leaving  it.  One  day,  just  before  Washington's  army 
fled,  Tom  Faringfield  came  to  me  with  a  face  all 
amusement. 

"Who  do  you  think  is  the  latest  patriot  recruit  ?  " 
cried  he.  It  was  our  custom  to  give  the  rebels 
ironically  their  own  denomination  of  patriots. 

"  Not  you  nor  I,  at  any  rate,"  said  I. 

"  But  one  of  the  family,  nevertheless." 

"Why,  surely  —  your  father  has  not  — 

"Oh,  no;  only  my  father's  eldest." 

«  Ned  ? " 

"  Nobody  else.  Fancy  Ned  taking  the  losing 
side !  Oh,  'fore  God,  it's  true  !  He  came  home  in 
a  kind  of  uniform  to-day,  and  told  father  what  he  had 
done  ;  the  two  had  a  long  talk  together  in  private 
after  that ;  and  though  father  never  shows  his 
thoughts,  I  believe  he  really  has  some  hopes  of  Ned 
now.  The  rebels  made  a  lieutenant  of  him,  on 
father's  account.  I  wonder  what  his  game  is." 

"  I  make  no  doubt,  to  curry  favour  with  his 
father." 

"  Maybe.    But  perhaps  to  get  an  excuse  for  leaving 
town,  and  a  way  of  doing  so.     I've  heard  some  talk  — 
they  say  poor  Sally  Roberts's  condition  is  his  work." 


ENEMIES  IN   WAR.  165 

"  Very  like.  Your  brother  is  a  terrible  Adonis  — 
with  ladies  of  a  certain  kind." 

"  Not  such  an  Adonis  neither  —  at  least  the 
Adonis  that  Venus  courted  in  Shakespeare's  poem. 
Rather  a  Jove,  I  should  say." 

We  did  not  then  suspect  the  depth  of  Mr.  Ned's 
contrivance  or  duplicity.  He  left  New  York  with 
the  rebels,  and  'twas  some  time  ere  We  saw,  or  heard 
of,  him  again. 

And  now  at  last  several  loyalist  brigades  were 
formed  as  auxiliaries  to  the  royal  army,  and  Tom 
and  I  were  soon  happy  in  the  consciousness  of  serv 
ing  our  king,  and  in  the  possession  of  the  green  uni 
forms  that  distinguished  the  local  from  the  regular 
force.  We  were  of  Colonel  Cruger's  battalion,  of 
General  Oliver  De  Lancey's  brigade,  and  both  were 
so  fortunate  as  to  obtain  commissions,  Tom  receiv 
ing  that  of  lieutenant,  doubtless  by  reason  of  his 
mother's  relationship  to  General  De  Lancey,  and  I 
being  made  an  ensign,  on  account  of  the  excellent 
memory  in  which  my  father  was  held  by  the  loyal 
party.  Mr.  Faringfield,  like  many  another  father  in 
similar  circumstances,  was  outwardly  passive  upon 
his  son's  taking  service  against  his  own  cause :  as  a 
prudent  man,  he  had  doubtless  seen  from  the  first 
the  advantage  of  having  a  son  actually  under  arms 
for  the  king,  for  it  gave  him  and  his  property  such 
safety  under  the  British  occupation  as  even  his  lady's 


1 66  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

loyalist  affiliations  might  not  have  sufficed  to  do. 
Therefore  Tom,  as  a  loyalist  officer,  was  no  less  at 
home  than  formerly,  in  the  house  of  his  rebel  father. 
I  know  not  how  many  such  family  situations  were 
brought  about  by  this  strange  war. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

/  Meet  an  Old  Friend  in  the  Dark. 

I  SHALL  not  give  an  account  of  my  military  ser 
vice,  since  it  entered  little  into  the  history  of  Philip 
Win  wood.  'Twas  our  duty  to  help  man  the  outposts 
that  guarded  the  island  at  whose  Southern  extremity 
New  York  lies,  from  rebel  attack ;  especially  from 
the  harassments  of  the  partisan  troops,  and  irregular 
Whiggery,  who  would  swoop  down  in  raiding  parties, 
cut  off  our  foragers,  drive  back  our  wood-cutters,  and 
annoy  us  in  a  thousand  ways.  We  had  such  raiders 
of  our  own,  too,  notably  Captain  James  De  Lancey's 
Westchester  Light  Horse,  Simcoe's  Rangers,  and 
the  Hessian  yagers,  who  repaid  the  visits  of  our 
enemies  by  swift  forays  across  the  neutral  ground 
between  the  two  armies. 

But  this  warfare  did  not  exist  in  its  fulness  till 
later,  when  the  American  army  formed  about  us  an 
immense  segment  of  a  circle,  which  began  in  New 
Jersey,  ran  across  Westchester  County  in  New  York 
province,  and  passed  through  a  corner  of  Connecticut 
to  Long  Island  Sound.  On  our  side,  we  occupied 

167 


1 68  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

Staten  Island,  part  of  the  New  Jersey  shore,  our  own 
island,  lower  Westchester  County,  and  that  portion  of 
Long  Island  nearest  New  York.  But  meanwhile,  the 
rebel  main  army  was  in  New  Jersey  in  the  Winter  of 
1776-77,  surprising  some  of  our  Hessians  at  Trenton, 
overcoming  a  British  force  at  Princeton,  and  going 
into  quarters  at  Morristown.  And  in  the  next  year, 
Sir  William  Howe  having  sailed  to  take  Philadelphia 
with  most  of  the  king's  regulars  (leaving  General 
Clinton  to  hold  New  York  with  some  royal  troops 
and  us  loyalists),  the  fighting  was  around  the  rebel 
capital,  which  the  British,  after  two  victories,  held 
during  the  Winter  of  1777-78,  while  Washington 
camped  at  Valley  Forge. 

In  the  Fall  of  1777,  we  thought  we  might  have 
news  of  Winwood,  for  in  the  Northern  rebel  army  to 
which  General  Burgoyne  then  capitulated,  there  were 
not  only  many  New  York  troops,  but  moreover  sev 
eral  of  the  officers  taken  at  Quebec,  who  had  been 
exchanged  when  Philip  had.  But  of  him  we  heard 
nothing,  and  from  him  it  was  not  likely  that  we 
should  hear.  Margaret  never  mentioned  him  now, 
and  seemed  to  have  forgotten  that  she  possessed  a 
husband.  Her  interest  was  mainly  in  the  British 
officers  still  left  in  New  York,  and  her  impatience  was 
for  the  return  of  the  larger  number  that  had  gone  to 
Philadelphia.  To  this  impatience  an  end  was  put 
in  the  Summer  of  1778,  when  the  main  army  marched 


7  MEET  AN  OLD  FRIEND.  169 

back  to  us  across  New  Jersey,  followed  part  way  by 
the  rebels,  and  fighting  with  them  at  Monmouth 
Court  House.  'Twas  upon  this  that  the  lines  I  have 
mentioned,  of  British  outposts  protecting  New  York, 
and  rebel  forces  surrounding  us  on  all  sides  but  that 
of  the  sea,  were  established  in  their  most  complete 
shape  ;  and  that  the  reciprocal  forays  became  most 
frequent. 

And  now,  too,  the  British  occupation  of  New  York 
assumed  its  greatest  proportions.  The  kinds  of  fes 
tivity  in  which  Margaret  so  brilliantly  shone,  lent  to 
the  town  the  continual  gaiety  in  which  she  so  keenly 
delighted.  The  loyalist  families  exerted  themselves 
to  protect  the  king's  officers  from  dulness,  and  the 
king's  officers,  in  their  own  endeavours  to  the  same 
end,  helped  perforce  to  banish  dulness  from  the 
lives  of  their  entertainers.  'Twas  a  gay  town,  indeed, 
for  some  folk,  despite  the  vast  ugly  blotches  wrought 
upon  its  surface  by  two  great  fires  since  the  war  had 
come,  and  despite  the  scarcity  of  provisions  and  the 
other  inconveniences  of  a  virtual  state  of  siege.  Tom 
and  I  saw  much  of  that  gaiety,  for  indeed  at  that 
time  our  duties  were  not  as  active  as  we  wished  they 
might  be,  and  they  left  us  leisure  enough  to  spend 
in  the  town.  But  we  were  pale  candles  to  the  Euro 
pean  officers  —  the  rattling,  swearing,  insolent  Eng 
lish,  the  tall  and  haughty  Scots,  the  courtly  Hessians 
and  Brunswickers. 


I/O  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

"  What,  sister,  have  we  grown  invisible,  Bert  and 
I  ?  "  said  Tom  to  Margaret,  as  we  met  her  in  the  hall 
one  night,  after  we  had  returned  from  a  ball  in  the 
Assembly  Rooms.  "  Three  times  we  bowed  to  you 
this  evening,  and  got  never  a  glance  in  return." 

"'Faith,"  says  she,  with  a  smile,  "one  can't  see 
these  green  uniforms  for  the  scarlet  ones ! " 

"Ay,"  he  retorted,  with  less  good-humour  than  she 
had  shown,  "the  scarlet  coats  blind  some  people's 
eyes,  I  think,  to  other  things  than  green  uniforms." 

It  was,  I  fancy,  because  Tom  had  from  childhood 
adored  her  so  much,  that  he  now  took  her  conduct 
so  ill,  and  showed  upon  occasion  a  bitterness  that  he 
never  manifested  over  any  other  subject. 

"What  do  you  mean,  you  saucy  boy?"  cried  she, 
turning  red,  and  looking  mighty  handsome.  "  You 
might  take  a  lesson  or  two  in  manners  from  some  of 
the  scarlet  coats  !  " 

"  Egad,  they  wouldn't  find  time  to  give  me  lessons, 
being  so  busy  with  you  !  But  which  of  your  teachers 
do  you  recommend  —  Captain  Andre,  Lord  Rawdon, 
Colonel  Campbell,  or  the  two  Germans  wjiose  names 
I  can't  pronounce  ?  By  George,  you  won't  be  happy 
till  you  have  Sir  Henry  Clinton  and  General  Knyp- 
hausen  disputing  for  the  front  place  at  your  feet !  " 

She  softened  from  anger  to  a  little  laugh  of  con 
scious  triumph,  tapped  him  with  her  fan,  rvi  sped  up 
the  stairs.  Her  prediction  had  come  true.  She  was 


SHE    WAS    INDEED    THE    TOAST    OF    THE    ARMY, 


I  MEET  AN  OLD  FRIEND.  I /I 

indeed  the  toast  of  the  army.  Her  mother  apparently 
saw  no  scandal  in  this,  being  blinded  by  her  own 
partiality  to  the  royal  side.  Her  father  knew  it  not, 
for  he  rarely  attended  the  British  festivities,  from 
which  he  could  not  in  reason  debar  his  wife  and 
daughters.  Fanny  was  too  innocent  to  see  harm  in 
what  her  sister  did.  But  Tom  and  I,  though  we 
never  spoke  of  it  to  each  other,  were  made  sensitive, 
by  our  friendship  for  Philip,  to  the  impropriety  of  the 
situation  —  that  the  wife  of  an  absent  American 
officer  should  reign  as  a  beauty  among  his  military 
enemies.  I  make  no  doubt  but  the  circumstance 
was  commented  upon,  with  satirical  smiles  at  the 
expense  of  both  husband  and  wife,  by  the  British 
officers  themselves.  Indeed  I  once  heard  her  name 
mentioned,  not  as  Mrs.  Winwood,  but  as  "  Captain 
Winwood's  wife,"  with  an  expression  of  voice  that 
made  me  burn  to  plant  my  fist  in  the  leering  face  of 
the  fellow  who  spoke  —  some  low-born  dog,  I'll 
warrant,  who  had  paid  high  for  his  commission. 

It  was  a  custom  of  Tom's  and  mine  to  put  our 
selves,  when  off  duty  together,  in  the  way  of  more 
active  service  than  properly  fell  to  us,  by  taking  horse 
and  riding  to  the  eastern  side  of  the  Harlem  River, 
where  was  quartered  the  troop  of  Tom's  relation, 
James  De  Lancey.  In  more  than  one  of  the  wild 
forays  of  these  horsemen,  did  we  take  an  unauthorised 
part,  and  find  it  a  very  exhilarating  business. 


1/2  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

One  cold  December  afternoon  in  1778,  we  got 
private  word  from  Captain  De  Lancey  that  he  was 
for  a  raid  up  the  Albany  road,  that  night,  in  retalia 
tion  for  a  recent  severe  onslaught  made  upon  our 
Hessian  post  near  Colonel  Van  Cortlandt's  mansion, 
either  ('twas  thought)  by  Lee's  Virginia  Light  Horse 
or  by  the  partisan  troop  under  the  French  nobleman 
known  in  the  rebel  service  as  Armand. 

At  nightfall  we  were  on  the  gallop  with  De 
Lancey's  men,  striking  the  sparks  from  the  stony 
road  under  a  cloudy  sky.  But  these  troops,  accus 
tomed  to  darkness  and  familiar  with  the  country, 
found  the  night  not  too  black  for  their  purpose,  which 
was,  first,  the  seizing  of  some  cattle  that  two  or  three 
Whig  farmers  had  contrived  to  retain  possession  of, 
and,  second,  the  surprising  of  a  small  advanced  post 
designed  to  protect  rebel  foragers.  The  first  object 
was  fairly  well  accomplished,  and  a  detail  of  men 
assigned  to  conduct  the  prizes  back  to  Kingsbridge 
forthwith,  a  difficult  task  for  which  those  upon  whom 
it  fell  cursed  their  luck,  or  their  commander's  orders, 
under  their  breath.  One  of  the  farmers,  for  stub 
bornly  resisting,  was  left  tied  to  a  tree  before  his 
swiftly  dismantled  house,  and  only  Captain  De  Lan 
cey's  fear  of  alarming  the  rebel  outpost  prevented 
the  burning  down  of  the  poor  fellow's  barn. 

The  taking  of  these  cattle  had  necessitated  our 
leaving  the  highway.  To  this  we  now  returned,  and 


I  MEET  AN  OLD   FRIEND.  173 

proceeded  Northward  to  where  the  road  crosses  the 
Neperan  River,  near  the  Philipse  manor-house.  In 
stead  of  crossing  this  stream,  we  turned  to  the  right, 
to  follow  its  left  bank  some  way  upward,  and  then 
ascended  the  hill  East  of  it,  on  which  the  rebel  post 
was  established.  Our  course,  soon  after  leaving  the 
road,  lay  through  woods,  the  margin  of  the  little  river 
affording  us  only  sufficient  clear  space  for  proceeding 
in  single  file.  De  Lancey  rode  at  the  head,  then 
went  two  of  his  men,  then  Tom  Faringfield  and  my 
self,  the  troop  stringing  out  behind  us,  the  lieutenant 
being  at  the  rear. 

'Twas  slow  and  toilsome  riding ;  and  only  the 
devil's  own  luck,  or  some  marvellous  instinct  of  our 
horses,  spared  us  many  a  stumble  over  roots,  stones, 
twigs,  and  underbrush.  What  faint  light  the  night 
retained  for  well-accustomed  eyes,  had  its  source  in 
the  cloud-curtained  moon,  and  that  being  South  of  us, 
we  were  hidden  in  the  shadow  of  the  woods.  But  'tis 
a  thousand  wonders  the  noise  of  our  passage  was  not 
sooner  heard,  though  De  Lancey's  stern  command 
for  silence  left  no  sound  possible  from  us  except  that 
of  our  horses  and  equipments.  I  fancy  'twas  the 
loud  murmur  of  the  stream  that  shielded  us.  But 
at  last,  as  we  approached  the  turning  of  the  water, 
where  we  were  to  dismount,  surround  the  rebels 
hutted  upon  the  hill  before  us,  creep  silently  upon 
them,  and  attack  from  all  sides  at  a  signal,  there 


174  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

was  a  voice  drawled  out  of  the  darkness  ahead  of  us 
the  challenge : 

"  Who  goes  thar  ? " 

We  heard  the  click  of  the  sentinel's  musket-lock  ; 
whereupon  Captain  De  Lancey,  in  hope  of  gaining 
the  time  to  seize  him  ere  he  could  give  the  alarm, 
replied,  "  Friends,"  and  kept  riding  on. 

"  You're  a  liar,  Jim  De  Lancey !  "  cried  back  the 
sentinel,  and  fired  his  piece,  and  then  (as  our  ears 
told  us)  fled  through  the  woods,  up  the  hill,  toward 
his  comrades. 

There  was  now  nothing  for  us  but  to  abandon  all 
thought  of  surrounding  the  enemy,  or  even,  we  told 
ourselves,  of  taking  time  to  dismount  and  bestow  our 
horses ;  unless  we  were  willing  to  lose  the  advantage 
of  a  surprise  at  least  partial,  as  we  were  not.  We 
could  but  charge  on  horseback  up  the  hill,  after  the 
fleeing  sentinel,  in  hope  of  coming  upon  the  rebels 
but  half-prepared.  Or  rather,  as  we  then  felt,  so  we 
chose  to  think,  foolish  as  the  opinion  was.  Indeed 
what  could  have  been  more  foolish,  less  military, 
more  like  a  tale  of  fabulous  knights  in  some  en 
chanted  forest  ?  A  cavalry  charge,  with  no  sort 
of  regular  formation,  up  a  wooded  hill,  in  a  night 
dark  enough  in  the  open  but  sheer  black  under  the 
thick  boughs ;  to  meet  an  encamped  enemy  at  the 
top !  But  James  De  Lancey' s  men  were  noted 
rather  for  reckless  dash  than  for  military  prudence ; 


/  MEET  AN   OLD   FRIEND.  175 

they  felt  best  on  horseback,  and  would  accept  a  score 
of  ill  chances  and  fight  in  the  saddle,  rather  than  a 
dozen  advantages  and  go  afoot.  I  think  they  were 
not  displeased  at  their  discovery  by  the  sentinel, 
which  gave  them  an  excuse  for  a  harebrained  onset 
ahorse,  in  place  of  the  tedious  manoeuvre  afoot  that 
had  been  planned.  As  for  Tom  and  me,  we  were  at 
the  age  when  a  man  will  dare  the  impossible. 

So  we  went,  trusting  to  the  sense  of  our  beasts,  or 
to  dumb  luck,  to  carry  us  unimpeded  through  the 
black  woods.  As  it  was,  a  few  of  the  animals  ran 
headforemost  against  trees,  and  others  stumbled  over 
roots  and  logs,  while  some  of  the  riders  had  their 
heads  knocked  nearly  off  by  coming  in  contact  with 
low  branches.  But  a  majority  of  us,  to  judge  by  the 
noise  we  made,  arrived  with  our  snorting,  panting 
steeds  at  the  hill-crest ;  where,  in  a  cleared  space, 
and  fortified  with  felled  trees,  upheaved  earth,  forage 
carts,  and  what  not,  stood  the  improvised  cabins  of 
the  rebels. 

Three  or  four  shots  greeted  us  as  we  emerged 
from  the  thick  wood.  We,  being  armed  with  mus 
kets  and  pistols  as  well  as  swords,  returned  the  fire, 
and  spurred  our  horses  on  toward  the  low  breast 
work,  which,  as  it  was  not  likely  to  have  anything 
of  a  trench  behind  it,  we  thought  to  overleap  either 
on  horse  or  afoot.  But  the  fire  that  we  met,  almost 
at  the  very  barrier,  felled  so  many  of  our  horses  and 


1/6  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

men,  raised  such  a  hellish  chorus  of  wild  neighing, 
cries  of  pain  and  wrath,  ferocious  curses  and  shouts 
of  vengeance,  that  the  men  behind  reined  up  uncer 
tain.  De  Lancey  turned  upon  his  horse,  waved  his 
sword,  and  shouted  for  the  laggards  to  come  on. 
We  had  only  the  light  of  musketry  to  see  by.  Tom 
Faringfield  was  unhorsed  and  down  ;  and  fearing  he 
might  be  wounded,  I  leaped  to  the  ground,  knelt,  and 
partly  raised  him.  He  was  unharmed,  however ; 
and  we  both  got  upon  our  feet,  with  our  swords  out, 
our  discharged  muskets  slung  round  upon  our  backs, 
our  intent  being  to  mount  over  the  rebel's  rude 
rampart  —  for  we  had  got  an  impression  of  De 
Lancey's  sword  pointed  that  way  while  he  fiercely 
called  upon  his  troops  to  disregard  the  fallen,  and 
each  man  charge  for  himself  in  any  manner  possible, 
ahorse  or  afoot. 

But  more  and  more  of  the  awakened  rebels  —  we 
could  make  out  only  their  dark  figures  —  sprang 
forward  from  their  huts  (mere  roofs,  'twere  better 
to  call  these)  to  the  breastwork,  each  waiting  to  take 

1  careful  aim  at  our  mixed-up  mass  of  men  and  horses 
before  he  fired  into  it.  As  Tom  and  I  were  extri 
cating  ourselves  from  the  mass  by  scrambling  over 
a  groaning  man  or  two,  and  a  shrieking,  kicking 
horse  that  lay  on  its  side,  De  Lancey  rode  back  to 

•  enforce  his  commands  upon  the  men  at  our  rear,  some 
of  whom  were  firing  over  our  heads.  His  turning  was 


/  MEET  AN  OLD  FRIEND.  1 77 

mistaken  for  a  movement  of  retreat,  not  only  by  our 
men,  of  whom  the  unhurt  promptly  made  to  hasten 
down  the  hill,  but  also  by  the  enemy,  a  few  of  whom 
now  leaped  from  behind  their  defence  to  pursue. 

Tom  and  I,  not  yet  sensible  of  the  action  of  our 
comrades,  were  striding  forward  to  mount  the  ram 
part,  when  this  sally  of  rebels  occurred.  Though  it 
appalled  us  at  the  time,  coming  so  unexpectedly,  it 
was  the  saving  of  us ;  for  it  stopped  the  fire  of  the 
rebels  remaining  behind  the  barrier,  lest  they  should 
hit  their  comrades.  A  ringing  voice,  more  potent 
than  a  bugle,  now  called  upon  these  latter  to  come 
back,  in  a  tone  showing  their  movement  to  have  been 
without  orders.  They  speedily  obeyed  ;  all  save  one, 
a  tall,  broad  fellow  —  nothing  but  a  great  black  figure 
in  the  night,  to  our  sight  —  who  had  rushed  with  a 
clubbed  musket  straight  upon  Tom  and  me.  A 
vague  sense  of  it  circling  through  the  air,  rather 
than  distinct  sight  of  it,  told  me  that  his  musket- 
butt  was  aimed  at  Tom's  head.  Instinctively  I  flung 
up  my  sword  to  ward  off  the  blow ;  and  though  of 
course  I  could  not  stop  its  descent,  I  so  disturbed 
its  direction  that  it  struck  only  Tom's  shoulder ; 
none  the  less  sending  him  to  the  ground  with  a 
groan.  With  a  curse,  I  swung  my  sword  —  a  cut- 
and-thrust  blade-of -all-work,  so  to  speak  —  with  some 
wild  idea  of  slicing  off  a  part  of  the  rebel's  head ; 
but  my  weapon  was  hacked  where  it  met  him,  and 


1/8  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

so  it  merely  made  him  reel  and  drop  his  musket. 
The  darkness  falling  the  blacker  after  the  glare  of 
the  firing,  must  have  cloaked  these  doings  from  the 
other  rebels.  Tom  rose,  and  the  two  of  us  fell  upon 
our  enemy  at  once,  I  hissing  out  the  words,  "  Call  for 
quarter,  you  dog  !  " 

"  Very  well,"  he  said  faintly,  quite  docile  from 
having  had  his  senses  knocked  out  of  him  by  my  blow, 
and  not  knowing  at  all  what  was  going  on. 

"  Come  then,"  said  I,  and  grasped  him  by  an  arm, 
while  Tom  held  him  at  the  other  side ;  and  so  the 
three  of  us  ran  after  De  Lancey  and  his  men  —  for 
the  captain  had  followed  in  vain  attempt  to  rally 
them  —  into  the  woods  and  down  the  hill.  Tom's 
^  ,rse  was  shot,  and  mine  had  fled. 

Our  prisoner  accompanied  us  with  the  unquestion 
ing  obedience  of  one  whose  wits  are  for  the  time  upon 
a  vacation.  Getting  into  the  current  of  retreat, 
which  consisted  of  mounted  men,  men  on  foot,  rider 
less  horses,  and  the  wrathful  captain  whose  enterprise 
was  now  quite  hopeless  through  the  enemy's  being 
well  warned  against  a  second  attempt,  we  at  last 
reached  the  main  road. 

Here,  out  of  a  chaotic  huddle,  order  was  formed, 
and  to  the  men  left  horseless,  mounts  were  given 
behind  other  men.  Captain  De  Lancey  assigned  a 
beast  to  myself  and  my  prisoner.  The  big  rebel 
clambered  up  behind  me,  with  the  absent-minded 


I  MEET  AN  OLD  FRIEND.  179 

acquiescence  he  had  displayed  ever  since  my  stroke  had 
put  his  wits  asleep.  As  we  started  dejectedly  South 
ward,  full  of  bruises,  aches,  and  weariness,  there  was 
some  question  whether  the  rebels  would  pursue  us. 

"  Not  if  their  officer  has  an  ounce  of  sense,"  said 
Captain  De  Lancey,  "being  without  horses,  as  he  is. 
He's  scarce  like  to  play  the  fool  by  coming  down,  as 
I  did  in  charging  up  !  Well,  we've  left  some  wounded 
to  his  care.  Who  is  their  commander  ?  Ask  your 
prisoner,  Lieutenant  Russell." 

I  turned  on  my  saddle  and  put  the  query,  but  my 
man  vouchsafed  merely  a  stupid,  "  Hey  ? " 

"  Shake  him  back  to  his  senses,"  said  De  Lancey, 
stopping  his  hojse,  as  I  did  mine,  and  Tom  his. 

But  shaking  did  not  suffice. 

"  This  infernal  darkness  helps  to  cloud  his  wits," 
suggested  the  captain.  "  Flash  a  light  before  his 
eyes.  Here,  Tippet,  your  lantern,  please." 

I  continued  shaking  the  prisoner,  while  the  lantern 
was  brought.  Suddenly  the  man  gave  a  start,  looked 
around  into  the  black  night,  and  inquired  in  a  husky, 
small  voice  : 

"  Who  are  you  ?     Where  are  we  ?  " 

"We  are  your  captors,"  said  I,  "and  upon  the 
Hudson  River  road,  bound  for  Kingsbridge.  And 
now,  sir,  who  are  you  ? " 

But  the  rays  of  the  lantern,  falling  that  instant 
upon  his  face,  answered  my  question  for  me. 


ISO  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

"  Cornelius  !  "  I  cried. 

"  What,  sir  ?     Why  —  'tis  Mr.  Russell !  " 

"  Ay,  and  here  is  Tom  Faringfield,"  said  I. 

"Well,  bless  my  soul !  "  exclaimed  the  pedagogue, 
grasping  the  hand  that  Tom  held  to  him  out  of  the 
darkness. 

"  Mr.  Cornelius,  since  that  is  your  name,"  put  in 
De  Lancey,  to  whom  time  was  precious.  "  Will  you 
please  tell  us  who  commands  yonder,  where  we  got 
the  reception  our  folly  deserved,  awhile  ago?  " 

"  Certainly,  sir,"  said  Cornelius.  "  'Tis  no  harm,  I 
suppose  —  no  violation  of  duty  or  custom  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  said  I. 

"Why  then,  sir,"  says  he,  "since  yesterday,  when 
we  relieved  the  infantry  there  —  we  are  dragoons,  sir, 
though  dismounted  for  this  particular  service  —  a 
new  independent  troop,  sir  —  Winwood's  Horse  — 

"  Winwood's  !  "  cried  I. 

"  Ay,  Captain  Winwood's  —  Mr.  Philip,  you  know 
—  'tis  he  commands  our  post  yonder." 

"Oh,  indeed!"  said  De  Lancey,  carelessly.  "A 
relation  of  mine  by  marriage." 

But  for  a  time  I  had  nothing  to  say,  thinking  how, 
after  these  years  of  separation,  Philip  and  I  had  come 
so  near  meeting  in  the  night,  and  known  it  not ;  and 
how,  but  for  the  turn  of  things,  one  of  us  might  have 
given  the  other  his  death-blow  unwittingly  in  the 
darkness. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

Philip's  Adventures —  Captain  Falconer  Comes  to 
Town. 

UPON  the  way  back  to  our  lines,  we  were  enter 
tained  by  Mr.  Cornelius  with  an  account  of  Philip's 
movements  during  the  past  three  years.  One  piece 
of  information  interested  Captain  De  Lancey  :  the 
recent  attack  upon  Van  Wrumb's  Hessians,  which  it 
had  been  our  purpose  that  night  to  revenge,  was  the 
work  of  Winwood's  troop  of  horse.  Our  curiosity 
upon  hearing  of  Philip  as  a  captain  of  independent 
cavalry,  who  had  left  us  as  a  lieutenant  of  New  York 
foot,  was  satisfied  in  the  course  of  the  pedagogue's 
narrative.  The  tutor  himself  had  received  promotion 
upon  two  sides  :  first,  to  the  Presbyterian  ministry, 
his  admission  thereto  having  occurred  while  he  was 
with  the  rebel  army  near  Morristown,  New  Jersey, 
the  last  previous  Winter  but  one  ;  second,  to  the 
chaplaincy  of  Winwood's  troop. 

"  Sure  the  devil's  in  it,"  said  I,  when  he  had  told 
me  this,  "  if  the  rebels'  praying  men  are  as  sanguinary 

181 


I  82  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

as  you  showed  yourself  to-night  —  leaping  out  to 
pursue  your  beaten  enemy,  as  you  did." 

"Why,"  he  replied,  self -reproachfully,  in  his  mild 
est  voice,  "  I  find,  do  what  I  can,  I  have  at  bottom  a 
combative  spirit  that  will  rise  upon  occasion.  I  had 
thought  'twas  long  since  quelled.  But  I  fear  no  man 
is  always  and  altogether  his  own  master.  I  saw  even 
General  Washington,  at  Monmouth  —  but  no  matter 
for  that.  Especially  of  late,  I  have  found  my  de 
mon  of  wrath  —  to  speak  figuratively  —  too  much  for 
me.  'Twas  too  violently  roused,  maybe,  that  night 
your  General  Grey  and  his  men  fell  upon  us  as  we  slept, 
yonder  across  the  Hudson,  and  slaughtered  us  like 
sheep  in  the  barn  we  lay  in." 

"  Why,  were  you  in  that  too  ? "  I  asked,  surprised. 
"  I  thought  that  troop  was  called  Lady  Washington's 
Light  Horse."  3 

"  Ay,  we  were  then  of  that  troop,  Captain  Win- 
wood  and  I.  'Twas  for  his  conduct  in  that  affair,  his 
valour  and  skill  in  saving  the  remnant  of  the  troop, 
that  he  was  put,  t'other  day,  in  command  of  an  inde 
pendent  company.  I  may  take  some  pride  in  having 
helped  him  to  this  honour ;  for  his  work  the  night 
General  Grey  surprised  us  was  done  so  quietly,  and  his 
report  made  so  little  of  his  own  share  in  the  business, 
'twould  have  gone  unrecognised,  but  for  my  account 
of  it.  Though,  to  be  sure,  General  Washington  said 
afterward,  in  my  hearing,  that  such  bravery  and 


PHILIP'S  ADVENTURES.  183 

sagacity,  coupled,  with  such  modesty,  were  only 
what  he  might  expect  of  Captain  Winwood." 

Cornelius  had  shared  Philip's  fortunes  since  their 
departure  from  New  York.  When  Winwood  fell 
wounded  in  the  snow,  between  the  two  blockhouses 
at  the  foot  of  the  cliff,  that  night  the  rebels  met 
defeat  at  Quebec,  the  pedagogue  remained  to  succour 
him,  and  so  was  taken  prisoner  with  him.  He  after 
ward  helped  nurse  him  in  the  French  religious  house, 
in  the  walled  "  upper  town,"  to  which  the  rebel 
wounded  were  conveyed. 

Upon  the  exchange  of  prisoners,  Philip,  having 
suffered  a  relapse,  was  unable  to  accompany  his 
comrades  homeward,  and  Cornelius  stayed  to  care 
for  him.  There  was  a  Scotchwoman  who  lived  upon 
a  farm  a  few  miles  West  of  Quebec,  and  whose 
husband  was  serving  on  our  side  as  one  of  Colonel 
Maclean's  Royal  Highlanders.  She  took  Winwood 
and  the  pedagogue  into  her  house  as  guests,  trusting 
them  till  some  uncertain  time^  in  the  future  might 
find  them  able  to  pay. 

When  at  last  Philip  dared  hazard  the  journey, 
the  rebel  siege  of  Quebec,  which  had  continued  in 
a  half-hearted  manner  until  Spring  brought  British 
reinforcements  up  the  river  in  ship-loads,  had  long 
been  raised,  and  the  rebels  had  long  since  flown. 
Provided  by  Governor  Carleton  with  the  passports  to 
which  in  their  situation  they  were  entitled,  the  two 


I  84  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

started  for  New  York,  bound  by  way  of  the  St.  Law 
rence,  the  Richelieu,  the  lakes,  and  the  Hudson.  It 
was  now  Winter,  and  only  Winwood's  impatience  to 
resume  service  could  have  tempted  them  to  such  a 
journey  in  that  season. 

They  came  part  way  afoot,  receiving  guidance  now 
from  some  solitary  fur-capped  courier  du  bois  clad  in 
skins  and  hoofed  with  snow-shoes,  now  from  some 
peaceful  Indian,  now  from  the  cowled  brothers  of 
some  forest  monastery  which  gave  them  a  night's 
shelter  also.  Portions  of  the  journey  they  made  upon 
sledges  driven  by  poor  habitans  dwelling  in  the  far- 
apart  villages  or  solitary  farmhouses.  At  other  times 
they  profited  by  boats  and  canoes,  propelled  up  the 
St.  Lawrence  by  French  peasants,  befringed  hunters, 
or  friendly  red  men.  Their  entertainment  and  hous 
ing  were  sometimes  from  such  people  as  I  have  men 
tioned  ;  sometimes  of  their  own  contriving,  the  woods 
furnishing  game  for  food,  fagots  for  fuel,  and  boughs 
for  roof  and  bedding.^ 

They  encountered  no  danger  from  human  foes  until 
they  were  in  the  province  of  New  York,  and,  having 
left  the  lakes  behind  them,  were  footing  it  South 
ward  along  the  now  frozen  Hudson.  The  Indians  in 
Northern  New  York  had  been  won  to  our  interest, 
by  Sir  John  Johnson,  of  Johnson  Hall,  in  the  Mo 
hawk  Valley,  and  were  more  than  formerly  inclined 
to  vigilance  regarding  travellers  in  those  lonely 


PHILIP'S  ADVENTURES.  185 

regions.  Upon  waking  suddenly  one  night  when 
camped  in  the  woods,  Philip  saw  by  the  firelight 
that  he  was  surrounded  by  a  party  of  silent  savages ; 
his  sword  and  pistol,  and  Cornelius's  rifle,  being 
already  in  their  possession.  The  two  soldiers  were 
held  as  prisoners  for  several  days,  and  made  to 
accompany  their  captors  upon  long,  mysterious  pere 
grinations.  At  last  they  were  brought  before  Sir 
John  Johnson,  at  one  of  his  forts  ;  and  that  gentle 
man,  respecting  Governor  Carleton's  passes,  and  the 
fact  that  Captain  Winwood  was  related  by  mar 
riage  to  the  De  Lanceys,  sent  them  with  a  guide 
to  Albany. 

Here  they  reported  to  General  Schuyler ;  and 
Philip,  having  learned  by  the  experience  of  his  jour 
ney  that  his  wound  left  him  incapacitated  for  arduous 
service  afoot,  desired  an  arrangement  by  which  he 
might  join  the  cavalry  branch  of  the  army.  Mr. 
Schuyler  was  pleased  to  put  the  matter  through  for 
him,  and  to  send  him  to  Morristown,  New  Jersey, 
(where  the  rebel  main  force  was  then  in  Winter 
quarters)  with  a  commendatory  letter  to  General 
Washington.  Cornelius,  whose  time  of  service  had 
expired,  was  free  to  accompany  him. 

Philip,  being  enrolled,  without  loss  of  nominal 
rank,  in  Lady  Washington's  Light  Horse,  which 
Cornelius  entered  as  a  trooper,  had  now  the  happi 
ness  of  serving  near  the  person  of  the  commander- 


1 86  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

in-chief.  He  was  wounded  again  at  the  Brandy  wine, 
upon  which  occasion  Cornelius  bore  him  off  the  field 
without  their  being  captured.  During  the  Winter  at 
Valley  Forge,  and  at  the  battle  of  Monmouth,  and 
in  the  recent  partisan  warfare  on  both  sides  of  the 
Hudson,  their  experiences  were  those  of  Washing 
ton's  army  as  a  whole,  of  which  there  are  histories 
enough  extant :  until  their  troop  was  cut  to  pieces 
by  Earl  Grey,  and  Captain  Winwood  was  advanced 
to  an  independent  command.  This  was  but  a  recent 
event. 

"And  did  he  never  think  of  us  in  New  York," 
said  Tom,  "  that  he  sent  us  no  word  in  all  this  time  ?  " 

"  Sure,  you  must  thank  your  British  occupation  of 
New  York,  if  you  received  none  of  our  messages. 
General  Washington  allowed  them  to  pass." 

"  Ay,  'tis  not  easy  for  rebels  to  communicate  with 
their  friends  in  New  York,"  quoth  I,  "despite  the 
traffic  of  goods  between  the  Whig  country  folk  and 
some  of  our  people,  that  Captain  De  Lancey  knows 
about." 

"Tut,  man!"  said  De  Lancey.  "Some  things 
must  be  winked  at ;  we  need  their  farm  stuff  as 
much  as  they  want  our  tea  and  such.  But  corre 
spondence  from  rebels  must  go  to  headquarters  — 
where  'tis  like  to  stop,  when  it's  for  a  family  whose 
head  is  of  Mr.  Faringfield's  way  of  thinking." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.    Cornelius,    "Captain  Winwood 


PHILIP'S  ADVENTURES.  l8/ 

and  I  have  discussed  more  than  one  plan  by  which 
he  might  perchance  get  sight  of  his  people  for  a 
minute  or  so.  He  has  hoped  he  might  be  sent  into 
New  York  under  a  flag  of  truce,  upon  some  negotia 
tion  or  other,  and  might  obtain  permission  from  your 
general  to  see  his  wife  while  there ;  but  he  has 
always  been  required  otherwise  when  messengers 
were  to  be  sent.  He  has  even  thought  of  offering 
to  enter  the  town  clandestinely  — 

"  Hush  !  "  I  interrupted.  "  You  are  indiscreet. 
We  are  soldiers  of  the  king,  remember.  But,  to  be 
sure,  'tis  nonsense ;  Phil  would  not  be  such  a  fool  as 
to  risk  hanging." 

"Oh,  to  be  sure;  nonsense,  indeed!"  Cornelius 
stammered,  much  upset  at  the  imprudence  due  to 
his  thoughtlessness.  "And  yet,"  he  resumed  pres 
ently,  "  never  did  a  man  more  crave  a  sight  of  those 
he  left  behind.  He  would  barter  a  year  of  his  life,  I 
think,  for  a  minute's  speech  with  his  wife.  He  talks 
of  her  by  the  hour,  when  he  and  I  are  alone  together. 
There  was  some  coolness,  you  will  remember,  before 
their  parting ;  but  'twas  not  on  his  side,  and  his  lady 
seemed  to  have  dropped  it  when  he  was  taking  leave 
of  her  ;  and  three  years  of  absence  have  gone  since 
then.  So  I  am  sure  she  has  softened  quite,  and  that 
she  desires  his  return  as  much  as  he  longs  for  her 
presence.  And  though  he  knows  all  this  must  be 
so,  he  keeps  me  ever  reassuring  and  persuading  him 


I  88  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

it  is.  Ah,  sir,  if  ever  there  was  a  man  in  love  with 
his  wife ! " 

I  made  no  reply.  I  had  previously  informed  him 
of  her  good  health,  in  answer  to  a  question  whose 
eagerness  came  of  his  friendship  for  Philip.  I  asked 
myself  whether  his  uns-uspecting  mind  was  like  to 
perceive  aught  that  would  pain  him  for  Philip's  sake, 
in  her  abandonment  to  the  gaieties  of  the  town,  to 
the  attentions  of  the  king's  officers,  to  the  business 
of  making  herself  twice  as  charming  as  the  pedagogue 
had  ever  seen  her. 

We  got  it  arranged  that  our  prisoner  should  be 
put  on  parole  and  quartered  at  Mr.  Faringfield's 
house,  where  his  welcome  was  indeed  a  glad  one. 
When  Margaret  heard  of  his  presence  in  the  town, 
she  gave  a  momentary  start  (it  seemed  to  me  a  start 
of  self-accusation)  and  paled  a  little ;  but  she  com 
posed  herself,  and  asked  in  a  sweet  and  gracious  (not 
an  eager)  tone  : 

«  And  Philip  ? " 

I  told  her  all  I  had  learned  from  Cornelius,  to 
which  she  listened  with  a  kindly  heedfulness,  only 
sometimes  pressing  her  white  teeth  upon  her  lower 
lip,  and  other  times  dropping  her  lustrous  eyes  from 
my  purposely  steady,  and  perhaps  reproachful,  gaze. 

"  So  then,"  said  she,  as  if  to  be  gay  at  the  expense 
of  her  husband's  long  absence,  "  now  that  three 
years  and  more  have  brought  him  so  near  us,  maybe 


PHILIP'S  ADVENTURES.  189 

another  three  years  or  so  will  bring  him  back  to  us  !  " 
'Twas  affected  gaiety,  one  could  easily  see.  Her 
real  feeling  must  have  been  of  annoyance  that  any 
news  of  her  husband  should  be  obtruded  upon  her. 
She  had  entered  into  a  way  of  life  that  involved  for- 
getfulness  of  him,  and  for  which  she  must  reproach 
herself  whenever  she  thought  of  him,  but  which  was 
too  pleasant  for  her  to  abandon.  But  she  had  the 
virtue  to  be  ashamed  that  reminders  of  his  existence 
were  unwelcome,  and  consequently  to  pretend  that 
she  took  them  amiably ;  and  yet  she  had  not  the 
hypocrisy  to  pretend  the  eager  solicitude  which  a 
devoted  wife  would  evince  upon  receiving  news  of  her 
long-absent  soldier-husband.  Such  hypocrisy,  indeed, 
would  have  appeared  ridiculous  in  a  wife  who  had 
scarce  mentioned  her  husband's  name,  and  then  only 
when  others  spoke  of  him,  in  three  years.  Yet  her 
very  self-reproach  for  disregarding  him — did  it  not 
show  that,  under  all  the  feelings  that  held  her  to  a 
life  of  gay  coquetry,  lay  her  love  for  Philip,  not  dead, 
nor  always  sleeping  ? 

When  Cornelius  came  to  the  house  to  live,  she 
met  him  with  a  warm  clasp  of  the  hand,  and  with  a 
smile  of  so  much  radiance  and  sweetness,  that  for 
a  time  he  must  have  been  proud  of  her  on  Phil's 
behalf ;  and  so  dazzled  that  he  could  not  yet  see 
those  things  for  which,  on  the  same  behalf,  he  must 
needs  be  sorrowful. 


IQO  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

Knowing  now  exactly  where  Philip  was,  we  were 
able  to  send  him  speedy  news  of  Cornelius's  safety, 
and  of  the  good  health  and  good  wishes  of  us  all ; 
and  we  got  in  reply  a  message  full  of  thanks  and  of 
affectionate  solicitude.  The  transfer  of  his  troop 
to  New  Jersey  soon  removed  the  possibility  of  my 
meeting  him. 

In  the  following  Summer  (that  of  1779),  as  I  after 
ward  learned,  Captain  Winwood  and  some  of  his  men 
accompanied  Major  Lee's  famous  dragoons  (dis 
mounted  for  the  occasion)  to  the  nocturnal  surprise 
and  capture  of  our  post  at  Paulus  Hook,  in  New 
Jersey,  opposite  New  York.  But  he  found  no  way 
of  getting  into  the  town  to  see  us.  And  so  I  bring 
him  to  the  Winter  of  1779,  when  the  main  rebel 
camp  was  again  at  Morristown,  and  Philip  stationed 
near  Washington's  headquarters.  But  meanwhile,  in 
New  York,  in  the  previous  Autumn  some  additional 
British  troops  had  arrived  from  England ;  and  one 
of  these  was  Captain  Falconer. 

There  was  a  ball  one  night  at  Captain  Morris's 
country-house  some  eight  or  ten  miles  North  of  the 
town,  which  the  rebel  authorities  had  already  declared 
confiscate,  if  I  remember  aright,  but  which,  as  it  was 
upon  the  island  of  Manhattan  and  within  our  lines, 
yet  remained  in  actual  possession  of  the  rightful 
owner.  Here  Washington  (said  to  have  been  an  un 
successful  suitor  to  Mrs.  Morris  when  she  was  Miss 


PHILIP'S  ADVENTURES.  191 

Philipse)  had  quartered  ere  the  British  chased  the 
rebels  from  the  island  of  Manhattan  ;  and  here  now 
were  officers  of  our  own  in  residence.  Twas  a  fine, 
white  house,  distinguished  by  the  noble  columns  of 
its  Grecian  front ;  from  its  height  it  overlooked  the 
Hudson,  the  Harlem,  the  East  River,  the  Sound,  and 
miles  upon  miles  of  undulating  land  on  every  side.4 

On  this  night  the  lights  showed  welcome  from 
its  many  windows,  open  doors,  and  balconies,  and 
from  the  coloured  paper  lanterns  festooned  upon  its 
facade  and  strung  aloft  over  its  splendid  lawn  and 
gardens.  The  house  still  stands,  I  hear,  and  is  known 
as  the  Jumel  Mansion,  from  the  widow  who  lives 
there.  But  I'll  warrant  it  presents  no  more  such 
scenes  as  it  offered  that  night,  when  the  wealth  and 
beauty  of  New  York,  the  chivalry  of  the  king's  army, 
arrived  at  its  broad  pillared  entrance  by  horse  and  by 
coach  in  a  constant  procession.  In  the  great  hall, 
and  the  adjacent  rooms,  the  rays  of  countless  candles 
fell  upon  brilliant  uniforms,  upon  silk  and  velvet  and 
brocade  and  broadcloth,  upon  powdered  hair,  and 
fans  and  furbelows,  upon  white  necks  and  bosoms, 
and  dazzling  eyes,  upon  jewels  and  golden  buckles 
and  shining  sword-hilts. 

We  that  entered  from  the  Faringfield  coach  were 
Mrs.  Faringfield  and  my  mother,  Margaret  and 
Fanny,  Tom  and  myself.  We  had  just  received 
the  greeting  of  our  handsome  hostess,  and  were 


1 92  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

passing  up  the  hall,  when  my  eyes  alighted  upon  the 
figure  of  an  officer  who  stood  alone,  in  an  attitude  of 
pensive  negligence,  beside  the  mantelpiece.  He  was 
fully  six  feet  tall,  but  possessed  a  carriage  of  grace 
and  elegance,  instead  of  the  rigid  erectness  of  so 
many  of  his  comrades.  He  had  a  slender,  finely  cut, 
English  face,  a  long  but  delicate  chin,  gray  eyes  of 
a  beautiful  clearness,  slightly  wavy  hair  that  was  now 
powdered,  and  the  hands  and  legs  of  a  gentleman. 

"What  a  handsome  fellow!  Who  is  he?"  whis 
pered  Margaret  to  Fanny. 

I  glanced  at  her.  Her  eyes  showed  admiration  — 
an  expression  I  had  never  before  seen  in  them.  I 
looked  back  at  the  officer.  He  in  turn  had  seen  her. 
His  face,  from  having  worn  a  look  half  melancholy, 
half  languid,  had  speedily  become  animated  with 
interest.  'Twas  as  if  each  of  these  two  superb  crea 
tures  had  unexpectedly  fallen  upon  something  they 
had  scarce  hoped  to  find  in  their  present  environment. 

"A  mighty  pretty  gentleman,  indeed,"  said  my 
mother. 

"  Nay,"  said  Margaret,  with  a  swift  relapse  into 
indifference,  "  no  such  Adonis  neither,  on  second 
view." 

But  I  saw  that  she  turned  the  corner  of  her  eye 
upon  him  at  intervals  as  she  moved  forward,  and 
that  she  was  not  sorry  or  annoyed  to  find  that  he 
kept  his  gaze  boldly  upon  her  all  the  while.  Pres- 


PHILIP'S  ADVENTURES.  1 93 

ently  he  looked  about  him,  and  singled  out  an 
acquaintance,  to  whom  he  made  his  way.  Five 
minutes  later  he  was  being  introduced,  as  Captain 
Falconer,  to  Mrs.  Winwood. 

"'Faith,"  said  he,  in  a  courteous,  subdued  voice, 
after  bowing  very  low,  "  I  did  not  think  to  find  a 
lady  so  recently  from  St.  James',  in  this  place.  One 
might  swear,  looking  at  you,  madam,  that  this  was 
Almack's." 

"  Sir,  you  speak  to  one  that  never  saw  St.  James' 
but  in  imagination,"  said  Margaret,  coolly.  "  Sure 
one  can  be  white,  and  moderately  civil,  and  yet  be 
of  New  York." 

"  The  deuce,  madam  !     A  native  ?     You  ? " 

"  Ay,  sir,  of  the  aborigines  ;  the  daughter  of  a  red 
Indian  ! " 

"  'Fore  God,  then,  'tis  no  wonder  the  American 
colonists  make  war  upon  the  Indian  race.  Their 
wives  and  daughters  urge  'em  to  it,  out  of  jealousy 
of  the  red  men's  daughters." 

"  Why,  if  they  wished  the  red  ladies  exterminated, 
they  couldn't  do  better  than  send  a  number  of  king's 
officers  among  'em  — famous  lady-killers,  I've  heard." 

"  Madam,  I  know  naught  of  that ;  nor  of  the  art  of 
lady-killing  itself,  which  I  never  desired  to  possess 
until  this  evening." 

The  captain's  eyes,  so  languid  with  melancholy 
or  ennui  a  short  while  before,  now  had  the  glow  of 


194  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

pre-determined  conquest ;  his  face  shone  with  that 
resolve ;  and  by  this  transformation,  as  well  as  by  the 
inconsistency  of  his  countenance  with  the  soft  tone 
and  playful  matter  of  his  words,  which  inconsistency 
betrayed  the  gentleness  to  be  assumed,  I  read  the  man 
through  once  for  all :  selfish,  resolute,  facile,  versatile, 
able  to  act  any  part  thoroughly  and  in  a  moment,  con 
stant  to  his  object  till  it  was  won,  then  quick  to  leave 
it  for  another;  unscrupulous,  usually  invincible,  confi 
dent  of  his  proven  powers  rather  than  vain  of  fancied 
ones  ;  good-natured  when  not  crossed,  and  with  an 
irresistible  charm  of  person  and  manner.  And  Mar 
garet  too  —  there  was  more  and  other  meaning  in  her 
looks  than  in  her  light,  ironical  speeches. 

He  led  her  through  two  minuets  that  night,  and 
was  her  partner  in  the  Virginia  reel  (the  name  the 
Americans  give  the  Sir  Roger  de  Coverly) ;  and  his 
was  the  last  face  we  saw  at  our  coach  window 
as  we  started  homeward. 

"You've  made  the  rest  of  the  army  quite  jealous 
of  this  new  captain,"  growled  Tom,  as  we  rolled 
Southward  over  the  stony  Harlem  road.  "  The  way 
Major  Tarleton  glared  at  him,  would  have  set  an 
other  man  trembling." 

"  Captain  Falconer  doesn't  tremble  so  easily,  I 
fancy,"  said  Margaret.  "  And  yet  he's  no  marvel 
of  a  man,  as  I  can  see." 

Tom  gave  a  sarcastic  grunt.     His  manifestations 


PHILIP'S  ADVENTURES.  195 

regarding  Margaret's  behaviour  were  the  only  excep 
tion  to  the  kind,  cheerful  conduct  of  his  whole  life. 
A  younger  brother  is  not  ordinarily  so  watchful  of  a 
sister's  demeanour ;  he  has  the  doings  of  other  young 
ladies  to  concern  himself  with.  Tom  did  not  lack 
these,  but  he  was  none  the  less  keenly  sensitive 
upon  the  point  of  Margaret's  propriety  and  good 
name.  'Twas  the  extraordinary  love  and  pride  he 
had  centred  upon  her,  that  made  him  so  observant 
and  so  touchy  in  the  case.  He  brooded  upon  her 
actions,  worried  himself  with  conjectures,  underwent 
such  torments  as  jealous  lovers  know,  such  pangs  as 
Hamlet  felt  in  his  uncertainty  regarding  the  integrity 
of  his  mother. 

Within  a  week  after  the  Morris  ball,  it  came  to 
pass  that  Captain  Falconer  was  quartered,  by  regular 
orders,  in  the  house  of  Mr.  Faringfield.  Tom  and  I, 
though  we  only  looked  our  thoughts,  saw  more  than 
accident  in  this.  The  officer  occupied  the  large  par 
lour,  which  he  divided  by  curtains  into  two  apartments, 
sitting-room  and  sleeping-chamber.  By  his  courtesy 
and  vivacity,  he  speedily  won  the  regard  of  the  family, 
even  of  Mr.  Faringfield  and  the  Rev.  Mr.  Cornelius. 

"  Damn  the  fellow  !  "  said  Tom  to  me.  "  I  can't 
help  liking  him." 

"  Nor  I,  either,"  was  my  reply ;  but  I  also  damned 
him  in  my  turn, 


CHAPTER  X. 

A  Fine  Project. 

WERE  it  my  own  history  that  I  am  here  under 
taking,  I  should  give  at  this  place  an  account  of  my 
first  duel,  which  was  fought  with  swords,  in  Bayard's 
Woods,  my  opponent  being  an  English  lieutenant 
of  foot,  from  whom  I  had  suffered  a  display  of  that 
superciliousness  which  our  provincial  troops  had  so 
resented  in  the  British  regulars  in  the  old  French 
War.  By  good  luck  I  disarmed  the  man  without 
our  receiving  more  than  a  small  scratch  apiece ;  and 
subsequently  brought  him  to  the  humbleness  of  a 
fawning  spaniel,  by  a  mien  and  tone  of  half-threaten 
ing  superiority  which  never  fail  of  reducing  such 
high-talking  sparks  to  abject  meekness.  'Twas  a 
trick  of  pretended  bullying,  which  we  long-suffering 
Americans  were  driven  to  adopt  in  self-defence 
against  certain  derisive,  contemptuous  praters  that 
came  to  our  shores  from  Europe.  But  'tis  more  to 
my  purpose,  as  the  biographer  of  Philip  Winwood, 
to  continue  upon  the  subject  of  Captain  Falconer. 

196 


A    FINE  PROJECT.  197 

He  was  the  mirror  of  elegance,  with  none  of  the 
exaggerations  of  a  fop.  He  brought  with  him  to  the 
Queen  Street  house  the  atmosphere  of  Bond  Street 
and  Pall  Mall,  the  perfume  of  Almack's  and  the 
assembly  rooms,  the  air  of  White's  and  the  clubs, 
the  odour  of  the  chocolate  houses  and  the  fashionable 
taverns.  'Twas  all  that  he  represented,  I  fancy, 
rather  than  what  the  man  himself  was,  and  conquer 
ing  as  he  was,  that  caught  Margaret's  eye.  He  typified 
the  world  before  which  she  had  hoped  to  shine,  and 
from  which  she  had  been  debarred — cruelly  debarred, 
it  may  have  seemed  to  her.  I  did  not  see  this  then ; 
'twas  another,  one  of  a  broader  way  of  viewing 
things,  one  of  a  less  partial  imagination  —  'twas 
Philip  Winwood  —  that  found  this  excuse  for  her. 

Captain  Falconer  had  the  perception  soon  to  gauge 
correctly  us  who  were  of  American  rearing,  and  the 
tact  to  cast  aside  the  lofty  manner  by  which  so  many 
of  his  stupid  comrades  estranged  us.  He  treated 
Tom  and  me  with  an  easy  but  always  courteous 
familiarity  that  surprised,  flattered,  and  wop  us. 
He  would  play  cards  with  us,  in  his  sitting-room, 
as  if  rather  for  the  sake  of  our  company  than  for 
the  pleasure  of  the  game.  Indeed,  as  he  often 
frankly  confessed,  gambling  was  no  passion  with 
him  ;  and  this  was  remarkable  at  a  time  when  'twas 
the  only  passion  most  fine  young  gentlemen  would 
acknowledge  as  genuine  in  them,  and  when  those 


198  PHILIP    WINWOOD, 

who  did  not  feel  that  passion  affected  it.  We  admired 
this  fine  disdain  on  his  part  for  the  common  fashion 
able  occupation  of  the  age  (for  the  pursuit  of  women 
was  pretended  to  be  followed  as  a  necessary  pastime, 
but  without  much  real  heart)  as  evidence  of  a  supe 
rior  mind.  Yet  he  played  with  us,  losing  at  first,  but 
eventually  winning  until  I  had  to  withdraw.  Tom, 
having  more  money  to  lose,  held  out  longer. 

"Why  now,"  said  the  captain  once,  regarding  his 
winnings  with  a  face  of  perfect  ruefulness,  "  'tis 
proven  that  what  we  seek  eludes  us,  and  what  we 
don't  value  comes  to  us !  Here  am  I,  the  last  man  in 
the  world  to  court  success  this  way,  and  here  am 
I  more  winner  than  if  I  had  played  with  care  and 
attention," 

Tom  once  mentioned,  to  another  officer,  Captain 
Falconer's  luck  at  cards  as  an  instance  of  fortune 
befriending  one  who  despised  her  favours  in  that 
way. 

"  Blood,  sir  !  "  exclaimed  the  officer.  "  Jack  Fal 
coner  may  have  a  mind  and  taste  above  gaming  as  a 
pleasure,  for  aught  I  know.  But  I  would  I  had  his 
skill  with  the  cards.  Tis  no  pastime  with  him,  but 
a  livelihood.  Don't  you  know  the  man  is  as  poor  as 
a  church-mouse,  but  for  what  he  gets  upon  the  green 
table  ? " 

This  revelation  a  little  dampened  our  esteem  for 
the  captain's  elevation  of  intellect,  but  I'll  take  my 


A   FINE  PROJECT.  199 

oath  of  it,  he  was  really  above  gaming  as  a  way  of 
entertaining  his  mind,  however  he  resorted  to  it  as  a 
means  of  filling  his  purse. 

Of  course  Tom's  friendly  association  with  him  was 
before  there  was  sure  cause  to  suspect  his  intentions 
regarding  Margaret.  His  manner  toward  her  was 
the  model  of  proper  civility.  He  was  a  hundred 
times  more  amiable  and  jocular  with  Fanny,  whom 
he  treated  with  the  half-familiar  pleasantry  of  an 
elderly  man  for  a  child ;  petting  her  with  such 
delicacy  as  precluded  displeasure  on  either  her  part 
or  mine.  He  pretended  great  dejection  upon  learn 
ing  that  her  heart  was  already  engaged  ;  and  declared 
that  his  only  consolation  lay  in  the  fact  that  the 
happy  possessor  of  the  prize  was  myself :  for  which 
we  both  liked  him  exceedingly.  Toward  Mrs.  Far- 
ingfield,  too,  he  used  a  chivalrous  gallantry  as  compli 
mentary  to  her  husband  as  to  the  lady.  Only  between 
him  and  Margaret  was  there  the  distance  of  unvaried 
formality. 

And  yet  we  ought  to  have  seen  how  matters  stood. 
For  now  Margaret,  though  she  had  so  little  apparent 
cordiality  for  the  captain,  had  ceased  to  value  the 
admiration  of  the  other  officers,  and  had  substituted 
a  serene  indifference  for  the  animated  interest  she 
had  formerly  shown  toward  the  gaieties  of  the  town. 
And  the  captain,  too,  we  learned,  had  the  reputation 
of  an  inveterate  conqueror  of  women ;  yet  he  had 


2OO  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

exhibited  a  singular  callousness  to  the  charms  of  the 
ladies  of  New  York.  He  had  been  three  months  in 
the  town,  and  his  name  had  not  been  coupled  with 
that  of  any  woman  there.  We  might  have  surmised 
from  this  a  concealed  preoccupation.  And,  more 
over,  there  was  my  first  reading  of  his  countenance, 
the  night  of  the  Morris  ball ;  this  I  had  not  forgotten, 
yet  I  ignored  it,  or  else  I  shut  my  eyes  to  my  inevitable 
inferences,  because  I  could  see  no  propriety  in  any 
possible  interference  from  me. 

One  evening  in  December  there  was  a  drum  at 
Colonel  Philipse's  town  house,  which  Margaret  did 
not  attend.  She  had  mentioned,  as  reason  for  absent 
ing  herself,  a  cold  caught  a  few  nights  previously, 
through  her  bare  throat  being  exposed  to  a  chill 
wind  by  the  accidental  falling  of  her  cloak  as  she 
walked  to  the  coach  after  Mrs.  Colden's  rout.  As 
the  evening  progressed  toward  hilarity,  I  observed 
that  Tom  Faringfield  became  restless  and  gloomy. 
At  last  he  approached  me,  with  a  face  strangely 
white,  and  whispered  : 

"  Do  you  see  ?  —  Captain  Falconer  is  not  here  !  " 

"  Well,  what  of  that  ?  "  quoth  I.  "  Ten  to  one,  he 
finds  these  companies  plaguey  tiresome." 

"  Or  finds  other  company  more  agreeable,"  replied 
Tom,  with  a  very  dark  look  in  his  eyes. 

He  left  me,  with  no  more  words  upon  the  subject. 
When  it  was  time  to  go  home,  and  Mrs.  Faring- 


A    FINE  PROJECT.  2OI 

field  and  Fanny  and  I  sought  about  the  rooms  for 
him,  we  found  he  had  already  taken  his  leave.  So 
we  three  had  the  chariot  to  ourselves,  and  as  we 
rode  I  kept  my  own  thoughts  upon  Tom's  previous 
departure,  and  my  own  vague  dread  of  what  might 
happen. 

But  when  Noah  let  us  in,  all  seemed  well  in  the 
Faringfield  house.  Margaret  was  in  the  parlour, 
reading ;  and  she  laid  down  her  book  to  ask  us 
pleasantly  what  kind  of  an  evening  we  had  had. 
She  was  the  only  one  of  the  family  up  to  receive  us, 
Mr.  Faringfield  having  retired  hours  ago,  and  Tom 
having  come  in  and  gone  to  bed  without  an  explana 
tion.  The  absence  of  light  in  Captain  Falconer's 
windows  signified  that  he  too  had  sought  his  couch, 
for  had  he  been  still  out,  his  servant  would  have  kept 
candles  lighted  for  him. 

The  next  day,  as  we  rode  out  Northward  to  our 
posts,  Tom  suddenly  broke  the  silence  : 

"  Curse  it !  "  said  he.  "  There  are  more  mysteries 
than  one.  Do  you  know  what  I  found  when  I  got 
home  last  night  ? " 

"  I  can't  imagine." 

"  Well,  I  first  looked  into  the  parlour,  but  no  one 
was    there.      Instead  of  going  on  to   the   library,   I 
went  up-stairs  and  knocked  at  Margaret's  door.     I  - 
I  wanted  to  see  her  a  moment.     It  happened  to  be 
unlatched,  and  as  I  knocked  rather  hard,  it  swung 


202  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

open.  No  one  was  in  that  room,  either,  but  I 
thought  she  might  be  in  the  bedchamber  beyond, 
and  so  I  crossed  to  knock  at  that.  But  I  chanced 
to  look  at  her  writing-table  as  I  passed  ;  there  was 
a  candle  burning  on  it,  and  devil  take  me  if  I  didn't 
see  a  letter  in  a  big  schoolboy's  hand  that  I  couldn't 
help  knowing  at  a  glance  —  the  hand  of  my  brother 
Ned !  " 

"Then  I'll  engage  the  letter  wasn't  to  Margaret. 
You  know  how  much  love  is  lost  between  those 
two." 

"  But  it  was  to  her,  though  !  '  Dear  M.,'  it  began 
—  there's  no  one  else  whose  name  begins  with  M  in 
the  family.  And  the  writing  was  fresh  —  not  the 
least  faded.  I  saw  that  much  before  I  thought  of 
what  I  was  doing.  But  when  I  remembered  'twasn't 
my  letter,  I  looked  no  more." 

"  But  how  could  he  send  a  letter  from  the  rebel 
camp  to  her  in  New  York  ?  "  5 

"  Why,  that's  not  the  strangest  part  of  it.  There's 
no  doubt  Washington  has  spies  in  the  town,  and 
ways  of  communicating  with  the  rebel  sympathisers 
here;  I've  sometimes  thought  my  father  —  but  no 
matter  for  that.  The  fact  is,  there  the  letter  was, 
as  certainly  from  Ned  as  I'm  looking  at  you  ;  and 
we  know  he's  in  the  rebel  army.  But  the  wonder, 
the  incredible  thing,  is  that  he  should  write  to 
Margaret." 


A    FINE   PROJECT.  2O3 

"  'Tis  a  mystery,  in  truth." 

"Well,  'tis  none  of  ours,  after  all,  and  of  course 
this  will  go  no  further  —  but  let  me  tell  you,  the 
devil's  in  it  when  those  two  are  in  correspondence. 
There's  crookedness  of  some  kind  afoot,  when  such 
haters  combine  together  !  " 

"You  didn't  ask  her,  of  course?" 

"  No.  But  I  knocked  at  her  chamber  door,  and 
getting  no  answer  I  went  down-stairs  again.  This 
time  she  was  in  the  parlour.  She  had  been  in  the 
library  before,  it  seemed  ;  'twas  warmer  there." 

But,  as  I  narrowly  watched  the  poor  lad,  I  ques 
tioned  whether  he  was  really  convinced  that  she  had 
been  in  the  library  before.  He  had  said  nothing  of 
Captain  Falconer's  sitting-room,  of  which  the  door 
was  that  of  the  transformed  large  parlour,  and  was 
directly  across  the  hall  from  the  Faringfields'  ordinary 
parlour,  wherein  Tom  had  first  sought  and  eventually 
found  her. 

'Twas  our  practice  thus  to  ride  back  to  our  posts 
when  we  had  been  off  duty,  although  our  rank  did 
not  allow  us  to  go  mounted  in  the  service.  For 
despite  the  needs  of  the  army,  the  Faringfields  and 
I  contrived  to  retain  our  horses  for  private  use.  All 
of  that  family  were  good  riders,  particularly  Mar 
garet.  She  often  rode  out  for  a  morning's  canter, 
going  alone  because  it  was  her  will  thereto,  which 
was  not  opposed,  for  she  had  so  accustomed  us  to 


2O4  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

her  aloofness  that  solitary  excursions  seemed  in  place 
with  her.  One  day,  a  little  later  in  that  same  De 
cember,  Tom  and  I  had  taken  the  road  by  way  of 
General  De  Lancey's  country  mansion  at  Blooming- 
dale,  rather  than  our  usual  course,  which  lay  past 
the  Murray  house  of  Incledon.  As  I  rode  North 
ward  at  a  slow  walk,  some  distance  ahead  of  my 
comrade,  I  distinctly  heard  through  a  thicket  that 
veiled  the  road  from  a  little  glade  at  the  right,  the 
voice  of  Captain  Falconer,  saying  playfully  : 

"  Nay,  how  can  you  doubt  me  ?  Would  not  grati 
tude  alone,  for  the  reparation  of  .my  fortunes,  bind 
me  as  your  slave,  if  you  had  not  chains  more 
powerful  ? " 

And  then  I   caught  this  answer,  in  a  voice  that 
gave  me  a  start,  and  sent  the  blood  into  my  face  — 
the  voice  of  Margaret  : 

"  But  will  those  chains  hold,  if  this  design  upon 
your  gratitude  fail  ?  " 

She  spoke  as  in  jest,  but  with  a  perceptible  under 
current  of  earnestness.  This  was  a  new  attitude 
for  her,  and  what  a  revelation  to  me !  In  a  flash  I 
saw  her  infatuation  for  this  fine  fellow,  some  fear,  of 
losing  him,  a  pursuit  of  some  plan  by  which  she 
might  repair  his  fortunes  and  so  bind  him  by  obli 
gation.  Had  Margaret,  the  invincible,  the  disdainful, 
fallen  to  so  abject  a  posture?  And  how  long  had 
these  secret  meetings  been  going  on  ? 


A    FINE   PROJECT,  205 

There  was  new-fallen  snow  upon  the  road,  and 
this  had  deadened  the  sound  of  our  horses'  feet  to 
those  beyond  the  thicket.  Tom  was  not  yet  so  near 
as  to  have  heard  their  voices.  I  saw  the  desirability 
of  his  remaining  in  ignorance  for  the  present,  so 
I  uttered  a  loud  "  chuck,"  and  gave  a  pull  at  my 
reins,  as  if  urging  my  horse  to  a  better  gait,  my 
purpose  being  to  warn  the  speakers  of  unseen  pas 
sers-by  ere  Tom  should  come  up.  I  had  not  let  my 
horse  come  to  a  stop,  nor  had  I  otherwise  betrayed 
my  discovery. 

But,  to  my  dread,  I  presently  heard  Tom  cry 
sharply,  "Whoa!"  and,  looking  back,  saw  he  had 
halted  at  the  place  where  I  had  heard  the  voices. 
My  warning  must  have  failed  to  hush  the  speakers. 
Never  shall  I  forget  the  look  of  startled  horror, 
shame,  and  anger  upon  his  face.  For  a  moment  he 
sat  motionless  ;  then  he  turned  his  horse  back  to  an 
opening  in  the  thicket,  and  rode  into  the  glade.  I 
galloped  after  him,  to  prevent,  if  possible,  some 
fearful  scene. 

When  I  entered  the  glade,  I  saw  Margaret  and 
Captain  Falconer  seated  upon  their  horses,  looking 
with  still  fresh  astonishment  and  discomfiture  upon 
the  intruder.  Their  faces  were  toward  me.  Tom 
had  stopped  his  horse,  and  he  sat  regarding  them  with 
what  expression  I  could  not  see,  being  behind  him. 
Apparently  no  one  of  the  three  had  yet  spoken. 


206  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

Tom  glanced  at  me  as  I  joined  the  group,  and 
then,  in  a  singularly  restrained  voice,  he  said : 

"  Captain  Falconer,  may  I  beg  leave  to  be  alone 
with  my  sister  a  few  moments  ?  I  have  something 
to  ask  her.  If  you  would  ride  a  little  way  off,  with 
Mr.  Russell  —  " 

'Twas,  after  all,  a  most  natural  request.  A  brother 
may  wish  to  speak  to  his  sister  in  private,  and  'tis 
more  fitting  to  put  a  gentleman  than  a  lady  to  the 
trouble  of  an  absence.  Seeing  it  thus,  and  speaking 
with  recovered  composure  as  if  nothing  were  wrong, 
the  captain  courteously  replied  : 

"  Most    certainly.     Mr.   Russell,  after   you,   sir  - 
nay,    no   precedence   to   rank,   while  we  are  simply 
private  gentlemen." 

He  bowed  low  to  Margaret,  and  we  two  rode  out 
to  the  highway,  there  to  pace  our  horses  up  and 
down  within  call.  Of  what  passed  between  brother 
and  sister,  I  afterward  received  a  close  account. 

"I  must  have  a  straight  answer,"  Tom  began,  "for 
I  must  not  be  put  to  the  folly  of  acting  without 
cause.  Tell  me,  then,  upon  your  honour,  has  there 
been  reason  between  you  and  Captain  Falconer  for 
me  to  fight  him  ?  The  truth,  now !  Of  course,  I 
shall  find  another  pretext.  It  looks  a  thousand  to 
one,  there's  reason  ;  but  I  must  be  sure." 

"Why,  I  think  you  have  lost  your  wits,  Tom," 
said  she.  "  If  a  gentleman  known  to  the  family 


A    FINE   PROJECT.  2O? 

happens  to  meet  me  when  I  ride  out,  and  we  chance 
to  talk  —  " 

"Ay,  but  in  such  a  private  place,  and  in  such 
familiar  tones,  when  you  scarce  ever  converse  to 
gether  at  home,  and  then  in  the  most  formal  way ! 
Oh,  sister,  that  it  should  come  to  this  !  " 

"  I  say,  you're  a  fool,  Tom !     And  a  spy  too  — 
dogging  my  footsteps  !     What  right  have  you  to  call 
me  to  account  ?  " 

"As  your  brother,  of  course." 

"  My  younger  brother  you  are  ;  and  too  young  to 
understand  all  you  see,  for  one  thing,  or  to  hold  me 
responsible  to  you  for  my  actions,  for  another." 

"  I  understand  when  your  honour  calls  for  my 
actions,  however !  Your  very  anger  betrays  you. 
I  will  kill  Falconer  !  " 

"  You'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind  !  " 

"You  shall  see!  I  know  a  brother's  duties  —  his 
rights,  by  heaven  !  " 

"A  brother  has  no  duties  nor  rights,  concerning 
a  sister  who  is  married." 

"Then,  if  not  as  your  brother,  I  have  as  your 
husband's  friend.  For,  by  God,  I  am  Phil's  friend, 
to  the  death ;  and  while  he's  not  here  to  see 
what's  passing,  I  dare  act  on  his  behalf.  If  I  may 
not  have  a  care  of  my  sister's  honour,  I  may  of 
Philip  Winwood's !  And  now  I'll  go  to  your 
captain  1 " 


2O8  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

"  But  wait  —  stay,  Tom  —  a  moment,  for  God's 
sake  !  You're  mistaken,  I  tell  you.  There's  naught 
against  Philip  Winwood's  honour  in  my  meeting 
Captain  Falconer.  We  have  conferences,  I  grant. 
But  'tis  upon  a  matter  you  know  nothing  of  —  a 
matter  of  the  war." 

"  What  nonsense  !  To  think  I  should  believe  that ! 
What  affair  of  the  war  could  you  have  to  do  with  ? 
It  makes  me  laugh !  " 

"  I  vow  there's  an  affair  I  have  to  do  with.  What 
do  you  know  of  my  secrets,  my  planning  and  plot 
ting  ?  'Tis  an  affair  for  the  royal  cause,  I'll  tell 
you  that  much.  Nay,  I'll  tell  you  all ;  you  won't  dare 
betray  it  —  you'd  be  a  traitor  to  the  king  if  you  did. 
You  shall  be  let  into  it,  you  and  Bert.  Call  back 
Captain  Falconer  and  him." 

Puzzled  and  incredulous,  but  glad  to  test  any 
assertion  that  might  clear  his  sister  of  the  suspicion 
most  odious,  Tom  hallooed  for  us.  When  we  re- 
entered  the  glade,  Margaret  spoke  ere  any  one  else 
had  time  for  a  word  : 

"Captain  Falconer,  I  think  you'll  allow  me  the 
right  to  admit  these  gentlemen  into  the  secret  of  our 
interviews.  They  are  both  loyal,  both  so  dear  to 
me  that  I'd  gladly  have  them  take  a  part  in  the 
honour  of  our  project  —  of  which,  heaven  knows, 
there'll  be  enough  and  to  spare  if  we  succeed." 

"  Madam,"   said    he,   "  its  chance  of  success  will 


A    FINE   PROJECT.  209 

be  all  the  greater,  for  the  participation  of  these 
gentlemen." 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Tom,  looking  inquiringly  at  his  sister. 

"  You  promise  your  aid,  then,  both  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Let  us  hear  it  first,"  he  replied. 

She  obtained  our  assurances  of  secrecy  in  any 
event,  and  proceeded  : 

"  Everybody  knows  what  this  rebellion  costs  Eng 
land,  in  money,  men,  and  commerce ;  not  to  speak 
of  the  king's  peace  of  mind,  and  the  feelings  of  the 
nation.  Everybody  sees  it  must  last  well-nigh  for 
ever,  if  it  doesn't  even  win  in  the  end !  Well,  then, 
think  what  it  would  mean  for  England,  for  the  king, 
for  America,  if  the  war  could  be  cut  short  by  a  single 
blow,  with  no  cost ;  cut  short  by  one  night's  courage, 
daring,  and  skill,  on  the  part  of  a  handful  of  men  !  " 

Tom  and  I  smiled  as  at  one  who  dreams  golden 
impossibilities. 

"Laugh  if  you  will,"  said  she  ;  "but  tell  me  this  : 
what  is  the  soul  of  the  rebellion  ?  What  is  the  one 
vital  part  its  life  depends  on  ?  The  different  rebel 
provinces  hate  and  mistrust  one  another  —  what  holds 
'em  together  ?  The  rebel  Congress  quarrels  and  plots, 
and  issues  money  that  isn't  worth  the  dirty  paper 
it's  printed  on ;  disturbs  its  army,  and  does  no  good 
to  any  one  —  what  keeps  the  rebellion  afoot  in  spite 
of  it  ?  The  rebel  army  complains,  and  goes  hungry 
and  half-naked,  and  is  full  of  mutiny  and  desertion  — 


210  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

what  still  controls  it  from  melting  away  entirely  ? 
What  carries  it  through  such  Winters  as  the  rebels 
had  at  Valley  Forge,  when  the  Congress,  the  army, 
and  the  people  were  all  at  sixes  and  sevens  and 
swords'  points  ?  What  raises  money  the  Lord  knows 
how,  finds  supplies  the  Lord  knows  where,  induces 
men  to  stay  in  the  field,  by  the  Lord  knows  what 
means,  and  has  got  such  renown  the  world  over 
that  now  France  is  the  rebels'  ally  ?  I  make  you 
stare,  boys  ;  you're  not  used  to  seeing  me  play  the 
orator.  I  never  did  before,  and  I  sha'n't  again,  for 
heaven  forbid  I  should  be  a  woman  of  that  kind ! 
But  I've  studied  this  matter,  and  I  hope  I  have  a  few 
ideas  upon  it." 

"But  what  has  done  all  these  things  you  mention  ? 
May  I  ask  that  ?  "  said  I,  both  amused  and  curious. 

"  Washington  !  "  was  her  reply.  "  Remove  him, 
and  this  rebellion  will  burst  like  a  soap-bubble ! 
And  that's  the  last  of  my  speechmaking.  Our  proj 
ect  is  to  remove  Washington  —  nay,  there's  no 
assassination  in  it.  We'll  do  better  —  capture  him 
and  send  him  to  England.  Once  he  is  in  the  Tower 
awaiting  trial,  how  long  do  you  think  the  rebellion 
will  last  ?  And  what  rewards  do  you  think  there'll 
be  for  those  that  sent  him  there  ? " 

"  Why,"  said  Tom,  "  is  that  a  new  project  ?  Hasn't 
the  British  army  been  trying  to  wipe  out  Washing 
ton's  army  and  take  him  prisoner  these  four  years  ? " 


A    FINE   PROJECT.  211 

"  But  not  in  the  way  that  we  have  planned  it," 
replied  Margaret,  "and  that  Captain  Falconer  shall 
execute  it.  Tell  them,  captain." 

"Tis  very  simple,  gentlemen,"  said  the  English 
officer.  "  If  the  honour  of  the  execution  is  to  be 
mine,  and  the  men's  whom  I  shall  lead,  the  honour 
of  the  design,  and  of  securing  the  necessary  collusion 
in  the  rebel  camp,  is  Mrs.  Winwood's.  My  part 
hitherto  has  been,  with  Sir  Henry  Clinton's  approval, 
to  make  up  a  chosen  body  of  men  from  all  branches 
of  the  army ;  and  my  part  finally  shall  be  to  lead 
this  select  troop  on  horseback  one  dark  night,  by  a 
devious  route,  to  that  part  of  the  rebel  lines  nearest 
Washington's  quarters ;  then,  with  the  cooperation 
that  this  lady  has  obtained  among  the  rebels,  to 
make  a  swift  dash  upon  those  quarters,  seize  Wash 
ington  while  our  presence  is  scarce  yet  known,  and 
carry  him  back  to  New  York  by  outriding  all  pursuit. 
Boats  will  be  waiting  to  bring  us  across  the  river.  I 
allow  such  projects  have  been  tried  before,  but  they 
have  been  defeated  through  rebel  sentries  giving  the 
alarm  in  time.  They  lacked  one  advantage  we  pos 
sess  —  collusion  in  the  rebel  camp  — 

"  And  'twas  you  obtained  that  collusion  ? "  Tom 
broke  in,  turning  to  Margaret.  "  Hang  me  if  I  see 
how  you  in  New  York  —  oh,  but  I  do,  though ! 
Through  brother  Ned  !  " 

"  You're  a  marvel  at  a  guess,"  quoth  she. 


212  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

"  Ay,  ay !  But  how  did  you  carry  on  your  corre 
spondence  with  him  ?  'Twas  he,  then,  originated 
this  scheme  ? " 

"  Oh,  no  ;  'twas  no  such  thing !  The  credit  is  all 
mine,  if  you  please.  I  make  no  doubt,  he  would  have 
originated  it,  if  he  had  thought  of  it.  But  a  sister's 
wits  are  sometimes  as  good  as  a  brother's  —  remem 
ber  that,  Tom.  For  I  had  the  wit  net  only  to  de 
vise  this  project,  but  to  know  from  the  first  that 
Ned's  reason  for  joining  the  rebels  was,  that  he 
might  profit  by  betraying  them." 

"  Ay,  we  might  have  known  as  much,  Bert,"  said 
Tom.  "But  we  give  you  all  credit  for  beating  us 
there,  sister." 

"  Thank  you !  But  the  rascal  never  saw  the  way 
to  his  ends,  I  fancy ;  for  he's  still  in  good  repute  in 
the  rebel  army.  And  when  I  began  to  think  of  a 
way  to  gain  —  to  gain  the  honour  of  aiding  the  king's 
cause,  you  know,  I  saw  at  once  that  Ned  might  help 
me.  Much  as  we  disliked  each  other,  he  would  work 
with  me  in  this,  for  the  money  'twould  bring  him. 
And  I  had  'lighted  upon  something  else,  too  —  quite 
by  chance.  A  certain  old  person  I  know  of  has  been 
serving  to  carry  news  from  a  particular  Whig  of  my 
acquaintance  (and  neither  of  'em  must  ever  come  to 
harm,  Captain  Falconer  has  sworn)  to  General  Wash 
ington."  (As  was  afterward  made  sure,  'twas  old 
Bill  Meadows,  who  carried  secret  word  and  money 


A    FINE   PROJECT.  21$ 

from  Mr.  Faringfield  and  other  friends  of  the  rebel 
lion.)  "  This  old  person  is  very  much  my  friend,  and 
will  keep  my  secrets  as  well  as  those  of  other  people. 
So  each  time  he  has  gone  to  the  rebel  camp,  of  late 
—  and  how  he  gets  there  and  back  into  New  York 
uncaught,  heaven  only  knows  —  he  has  carried  a 
message  to  brother  Ned  ;  and  brought  back  a  reply. 
Thus  while  he  knowingly  serves  the  rebel  cause,  he 
ignorantly  serves  ours  too,  for  he  has  no  notion  of 
what  my  brother  and  I  correspond  about.  And  so 
'tis  all  arranged.  Through  Ned  we  have  learned 
that  the  rebel  light  horse  troop  under  Harry  Lee 
has  gone  off  upon  some  long  business  or  other,  and, 
as  far  as  the  army  knows,  may  return  to  the  camp 
at  any  time.  All  that  our  company  under  Captain 
Falconer  has  to  do,  then,  is  to  ride  upon  a  dark 
night  to  a  place  outside  the  rebel  pickets,  where 
Ned  will  meet  them.  How  Ned  shall  come  there 
unsuspected,  is  his  own  affair  —  he  swears  'tis  easy. 
He  will  place  himself  at  the  head  of  our  troop,  and 
knowing  the  rebel  passwords  for  the  night,  as  well 
as  how  to  speak  like  one  of  Major  Lee's  officers,  he 
can  lead  our  men  past  the  sentries  without  alarm. 
Our  troop  will  have  on  the  blue  greatcoats  and  the 
caps  the  rebel  cavalry  wear — General  Grey's  men 
took  a  number  of  these  last  year,  and  now  they 
come  into  use.  And  besides  our  having.  a]l  these 
means  of  passing  the  rebel  lines  without  hindrance, 


214  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

Ned  has  won  over  a  number  of  the  rebels  them 
selves,  by  promising  'em  a  share  of  the  great  reward 
the  parliament  is  sure  to  vote  for  this  business.  He 
has  secured  some  of  the  men  about  headquarters  to 
our  interest." 

"  What  a  traitor  !  "  quoth  Tom,  in  a  tone  of  disgust. 

"  Why,  sure,  we  can  make  use  of  his  treason, 
without  being  proud  of  him  as  one  of  the  family," 
said  Margaret.  "The  matter  now  is,  that  Captain 
Falconer  offers  you  two  gentlemen  places  in  the 
troop  he  has  chosen." 

"The  offer  comes  a  little  late,  sir,"  said  Tom, 
turning  to  the  captain. 

"Why,  sir,"  replied  Falconer,  "I  protest  I  often 
thought  of  you  two.  But  the  risk,  gentlemen,  and 
your  youth,  and  my  dislike  of  imperilling  my  friends 
—  however,  take  it  as  you  will,  I  now  see  I  had  done 
better  to  enlist  you  at  the  first.  The  point  is,  to 
enlist  you  now.  You  shall  have  your  commander's 
permission;  General  Clinton  gives  me  my  choice  of 
men.  'Twill  be  a  very  small  company,  gentlemen  ; 
the  need  of  silence  and  dash  requires  that.  And  you 
two  shall  come  in  for  honour  and  pay,  next  to  my 
self —  that  I  engage.  'Twill  make  rich  men  of  us 
three,  at  least,  and  of  your  brother,  sir ;  while  this 
lady  will  find  herself  the  world's  talk,  the  heroine 
of  the  age,  the  saviour  of  America,  the  glory  of  Eng 
land.  I  can  see  her  hailed  in  London  for  this,  if  it 


A    FINE  PROJECT.  215 

succeed  ;  praised  by  princes,  toasted  by  noblemen, 
envied  by  the  ladies  of  fashion  and  the  Court,  huz- 
za'd  by  the  people  in  the  streets  and  parks  when  she 
rides  out  — ' 

"Nay,  captain,  you  see  too  far  ahead,"  she  inter 
rupted,  seeming  ill  at  ease  that  these  things  should 
be  said  before  Tom  and  me. 

"A  strange  role,  sure,  for  Captain  Winwood's 
wife,"  said  Tom;  "that  of  plotter  against  his  com 
mander." 

"  Nay,"  she  cried,  quickly,  "  Captain  Winwood 
plays  a  strange  role  for  Margaret  Faringfield's  hus 
band  —  that  of  rebel  against  her  king.  For  look  ye, 
I  had  a  king  before  he  had  a  commander.  Isn't 
that  what  you  might  call  logic,  Tom  ?  " 

"  'Tis  an  unanswerable  answer,  at  least,"  said  Cap 
tain  Falconer,  smiling  gallantly.  "  But  come,  gentle 
men,  shall  we  have  your  aid  in  this  fine  adventure  ?  " 

It  was  a  fine  adventure,  and  that  was  the  truth. 
The  underhand  work,  the  plotting  and  the  treason 
involved,  were  none  of  ours.  'Twas  against  Philip 
Winwood's  cause,  but  our  cause  was  as  much  to  us 
as  his  was  to  him.  The  prospect  of  pay  and  honour 
did  not  much  allure  us  ;  but  the  vision  of  that  silent 
night  ride,  that  perilous  entrance  into  the  enemy's 
camp,  that  swift  dash  for  the  person  of  our  greatest 
foe,  that  gallop  homeward  with  a  roused  rebel  cav 
alry,  desperate  with  consternation,  at  our  heels,  quite 


21 6  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

supplanted  all  feelings  of  slight  in  not  having  been 
invited  earlier.  Such  an  enterprise,  for  young  fel 
lows  like  us,  there  was  no  staying  out  of. 

We  gave  Captain  Falconer  our  hands  upon  it, 
whereupon  he  told  us  he  would  be  at  the  pains  to 
secure  our  relief  from  regular  duty  on  the  night  set 
for  the  adventure  —  that  of  the  following  Wednesday 
—  and  directed  us  to  be  ready  with  our  horses  at  the 
ferry  at  six  o'clock  Wednesday  evening.  The  rebel 
cavalry  caps  and  overcoats  were  to  be  taken  to  the 
New  Jersey  side  previously,  and  there  put  on,  this 
arrangement  serving  as  precaution  against  our  dis 
guise  being  seen  within  our  lines  by  some  possible 
rebel  spy  who  might  thereupon  suspect  our  purpose 
and  find  means  of  preceding  us  to  the  enemy's 
camp. 

Tom  and  I  saw  the  English  captain  and  Margaret 
take  the  road  toward  the  town,  whereupon  we  re 
sumed  our  ride  Northward.  I  could  note  the  lad's 
relief  at  being  able  to  account  for  his  sister's  secret 
meeting  with  Falconer  by  a  reason  other  than  he  had 
feared. 

"  By  George,  though,"  he  broke  out  presently, 
"  'tis  plaguey  strange  Margaret  should  grow  so  ac 
tive  in  loyalty  !  I  never  knew  her  zeal  to  be  very 
great  for  any  cause  of  a  public  nature.  'Tisn't  like 
her  ;  rabbit  me  if  it  is  !  " 

"Why,"  quoth  I,   "maybe  it's  for  her  own  pur- 


A    FINE  PROJECT.  2 1/ 

poses,  after  all  —  the  reward  and  the  glory.  You 
know  the  pleasure  she  takes  in  shining." 

"  Egad,  that's  true  enough  !  "  And  Tom's  face 
cleared  again. 

Alas,  I  knew  better !  Besides  the  motive  I  had 
mentioned,  there  had  been  another  to  stimulate  her 
wits  and  industry  —  the  one  her  words,  overheard  by 
me  alone,  had  betrayed  too  surely  —  the  desire  of 
enriching  and  advancing  Captain  Falconer.  Well, 
she  was  not  the  first  woman,  nor  has  been  the  last, 
scheming  to  pour  wealth  and  honour  into  a  man's 
lap,  partly  out  of  the  mere  joy  of  pleasing  him, 
partly  in  hope  of  binding  him  by  gratitude,  partly 
to  make  him  seem  in  the  world's  eyes  the  worthier 
her  devotion,  and  so  to  lessen  her  demerit  if  that 
devotion  be  unlawful. 

"  Poor  Philip  !  "  thought  I.  "  Poor  Philip !  And 
what  will  be  the  end  of  this  ?  " 


CHAPTER    XI. 
Winwood  Conies  to  See  His    Wife. 

'TWERE  scarce  possible  to  exaggerate  the  eager 
ness  with  which  Margaret  looked  forward  to  the 
execution  of  the  great  project.  Her  anticipations,  in 
the  intensity  and  entirety  with  which  they  possessed 
her,  equalled  those  with  which  she  had  formerly 
awaited  the  trip  to  England.  She  was  now  as  obliv 
ious  of  the  festivities  arising  from  the  army's  presence, 
as  she  had  been  of  the  town's  tame  pleasures  on  the 
former  occasion.  She  showed,  to  us  who  had  the  key 
to  her  mind,  a  deeper  abstraction,  a  more  anxious 
impatience,  a  keener  foretaste  (in  imagination)  of  the 
triumphs  our  success  would  bring  her.  Her  favour 
able  expectations,  of  course,  seesawed  with  fears  of 
failure  ;  and  sometimes  there  was  preserved  a  balance 
that  afflicted  her  with  a  most  irritating  uncertainty, 
revealed  by  petulant  looks  and  tones.  But  by  force 
of  will,  'twas  mainly  in  the  hope  of  success  that  she 
passed  the  few  days  between  our  meeting  in  the  glade 

and  the  appointed  Wednesday  evening. 

218 


WIN  WOOD    COMES    TO  SEE   HIS    WIFE.        219 

"  Tut,  sister,"  warned  Tom,  with  kind  intention, 
"  don't  raise  yourself  so  high  with  hope,  or  you  may 
fall  as  far  with  disappointment." 

"Never  fear,  Tom  ;  we  can't  fail." 

"  It  looks  all  clear  and  easy,  I  allow,"  said  he ; 
"  but  there's  many  a  slip,  remember  !  " 

"Not  two  such  great  slips  to  the  same  person," 
she  replied.  "  I  had  my  share  of  disappointment, 
when  I  couldn't  go  to  London.  This  war,  and  my 
stars,  owe  me  a  good  turn,  dear." 

But  when,  at  dusk  on  Wednesday  evening,  Tom 
and  I  took  leave  of  her  in  the  hall,  she  was  trembling 
like  a  person  with  a  chill.  Her  eyes  glowed  upon  us 
beseechingly,  as  if  she  implored  our  Herculean  en 
deavours  in  the  attempt  now  to  be  made. 

We  had  to  speak  softly  to  one  another,  lest  Mr. 
Faringfield  might  hear  and  infer  some  particular  en 
terprise  —  for  we  were  not  to  hazard  the  slightest 
adverse  chance.  Captain  Falconer  had  been  away 
from  his  quarters  all  day,  about  the  business  of  the 
night,  and  would  not  return  till  after  its  accomplish 
ment.  Thus  we  two  were  the  last  to  be  seen  of 
her,  of  those  bound  to  the  adventure ;  and  so  to  us 
were  visible  the  feelings  with  which  she  regarded  the 
setting  forth  of  our  whole  company  upon  the  project 
she  had  designed,  for  which  she  had  laboriously  laid 
preparations  even  in  the  enemy's  camp,  and  from 
which  she  looked  for  a  splendid  future.  Were  it 


220  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

realised,  she  might  defy  Mr.  Faringfield  and  Philip  : 
they  would  be  nobodies,  in  comparison  with  her : 
heroines  belong  to  the  whole  world,  and  may  have 
their  choice  of  the  world's  rewards  :  they  may  go 
where  they  please,  love  whom  they  please,  and  no 
father  nor  husband  may  say  them  nay.  Though  I 
could  not  but  be  sad,  for  Philip's  sake,  at  thought  of 
what  effect  our  success  might  have  upon  her,  yet  for 
the  moment  I  seemed  to  view  matters  from  her  side, 
with  her  nature,  and  for  that  moment  I  felt  that  to 
disappoint  her  hopes  would  be  a  pity. 

As  for  myself  (and  Tom  was  like  me)  my  cause 
and  duty,  not  Margaret's  private  ambitions,  bade  me 
strive  my  utmost  in  the  business  ;  and  my  youthful 
love  of  danger  sent  me  forth  with  a  most  exquisite 
thrill,  as  into  the  riskiest,  most  exhilarating  game  a 
man  can  play.  So  I  too  trembled  a  little,  but  with  an 
uplifting,  strong-nerved  excitement  far  different  from 
the  anxious  tremor  of  suspense  that  tortured  Margaret. 

"  For  pity's  sake,  don't  fail,  boys !  "  she  said,  as  if 
all  rested  upon  us  two.  "Think  of  me  waiting  at 
home  for  the  news !  Heaven,  how  slow  the  hours 
will  pass  !  I  sha'n't  have  a  moment's  rest  of  mind  or 
body  till  I  know  !  " 

"  You  shall  know  as  soon  as  we  can  get  back  to 
New  York,"  said  I. 

"  Ay  —  if  we  are  able  to  come  back,"  added  Tom, 
with  a  queer  smile. 


WIN  WOOD    COMES    TO  SEE  HIS    WIFE.        221 

She  turned  whiter,  and  new  thoughts  seemed  to 
sweep  into  her  mind.  But  she  drove  them  back. 

"  Hush,  Tom,  we  mustn't  think  of  that ! "  she 
whispered.  "  No,  no,  it  can't  come  to  that !  But  I 
shall  be  a  thousand  times  the  more  anxious !  Good 
night! — that's  all  I  shall  say — good  night  and  a 
speedy  and  safe  return  !  " 

She  caught  her  brother's  head  between  her  hands, 
bestowed  a  fervent  kiss  upon  his  forehead,  swiftly 
pressed  my  fingers,  and  opened  the  door  for  us. 

We  passed  out  into  the  dark,  frosty  evening. 
There  was  snow  on  the  ground  but  none  in  the  air. 
We  mounted  our  waiting  horses,  waved  back  a  fare 
well  to  the  white-faced,  white-handed  figure  in  the 
doorway ;  and  started  toward  the  ferry.  Margaret 
was  left  alone  with  her  fast-beating  heart,  to  her 
ordeal  of  mingled  elation  and  doubt,  her  dread  of 
crushing  disappointment,  her  visions  of  glorious 
triumph. 

At  the  ferry  we  reported  to  Captain  Falconer, 
who  was  expeditiously  sending  each  rider  and  horse 
aboard  one  of  the  waiting  flat-boats  as  soon  as  each 
arrived.  Thus  was  avoided  the  assemblage,  for  any 
length  of  time,  of  a  special  body  of  horsemen  in  the 
streets  —  for  not  even  the  army,  let  alone  the  towns 
people,  should  know  more  of  our  setting  forth  than 
could  not  be  hid.  The  departure  of  those  who  were  to 
embark  from  the  town  was  managed  with  exceeding 


222  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

quietness  and  rapidity.  Captain  Falconer  and  the 
man  who  was  to  guide  us  to  Edward  Faringfield's 
trysting-place  were  the  last  to  board. 

Upon  rounding  the  lower  end  of  the  town,  and 
crossing  the  Hudson  to  Paulus  Hook,  which  post 
our  troops  had  reoccupied  after  the  rebel  capture  of 
its  former  garrison,  we  went  ashore  and  were  joined 
by  men  and  horses  from  up  the  river,  and  by  others 
from  Staten  Island.  We  then  exchanged  our  hats 
for  the  caps  taken  from  the  rebel  cavalry,  donned 
the  blue  surtouts,  and  set  out ;  Captain  Falconer 
and  the  guide  riding  at  the  head. 

For  a  short  distance  we  kept  to  the  Newark  road, 
but,  without  proceeding  to  that  town,  we  deviated  to 
the  right,  and  made  Northwestwardly,  the  purpose 
being  to  pass  through  a  hiatus  in  the  semicircle  of 
rebel  detached  posts,  turn  the  extremity  of  the  main 
army,  and  approach  Morristown  —  where  Washing 
ton  had  his  headquarters  —  from  a  side  whence  a 
British  force  from  New  York  might  be  the  less 
expected. 

Each  man  of  us  carried  a  sword  and  two  pistols, 
having  otherwise  no  burden  but  his  clothes.  At 
first  we  walked  our  horses,  but  presently  we  put 
them  to  a  steady,  easy  gallop.  The  snow  on  the 
ground  greatly  muffled  the  sound  of  our  horses'  foot 
falls,  and  made  our  way  less  invisible  than  so  dark  a 
night  might  have  allowed.  But  it  made  ourselves 


WINWOOD   COMES    TO  SEE  HIS    WIFE.        22$ 

also  the  more  likely  to  be  seen  ;  though  scarce  at  a 
great  distance  nor  in  more  than  brief  glimpses,  for 
the  wind  raised  clouds  of  fine  snow  from  the  whitened 
fields,  the  black  growth  of  tree  and  brush  along  the 
road  served  now  as  curtain  for  us,  now  as  background 
into  which  our  outlines  might  sink,  and  a  stretch  of 
woods  sometimes  swallowed  us  entirely  from  sight. 
Besides,  on  such  a  night  there  would  be  few  folk  out 
doors,  and  if  any  of  these  came  near,  or  if  we  were 
seen  from  farmhouses  or  village  windows,  our  appear 
ance  of  rebel  horse  would  protect  our  purpose.  So, 
in  silence  all,  following  our  captain  and  his  guide,  we 
rode  forward  to  seize  the  rebel  chief,  and  make 
several  people's  fortunes. 

I  must  now  turn  to  Philip  Winwood,  and  relate 
matters  of  which  I  was  not  a  witness,  but  with  which 
I  was  subsequently  made  acquainted  in  all  minute 
ness. 

We  had  had  no  direct  communication  with  Philip 
since  the  time  after  our  capture  of  Mr.  Cornelius, 
who,  as  every  exchange  of  prisoners  had  passed  him 
by,  still  remained  upon  parole  at  Mr.  Faringfield's. 
If  Mr.  Faringfield  received  news  of  Winwood  through 
his  surreptitious  messenger,  Bill  Meadows,  he  kept 
it  to  himself,  naturally  making  a  secret  of  his  being 
in  correspondence  with  General  Washington. 

Though  Philip  knew  of  Meadows's  perilous  employ 
ment,  he  would  not  risk  the  fellow's  discovery  even 


224  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

to  Margaret,  and  so  refrained  from  laying  upon  him 
the  task  of  a  message  to  her.  How  she  found  out 
what  Meadows  was  engaged  in,  I  cannot  guess, 
unless  it  was  that,  unheeded  in  the  house  as  she  was 
unheeding,  she  chanced  to  overhear  some  talk  be 
tween  her  father  and  him,  or  to  detect  him  in  the 
bringing  of  some  letter  which  she  afterward  took 
the  trouble  secretly  to  peep  into.  Nor  did  I  ever 
press  to  know  by  what  means  she  had  induced  him 
to  serve  as  messenger  between  her  and  Ned,  and  to 
keep  this  service  hidden  from  her  father  and  husband 
and  all  the  world.  Maybe  she  pretended  a  desire  to 
hear  of  her  husband  without  his  knowing  she  had  so 
far  softened  toward  him,  and  a  fear  of  her  father's 
wrath  if  he  learned  she  made  Ned  her  correspondent 
in  the  matter.  Perhaps  she  added  to  her  gentler 
means  of  persuasion  a  veiled  threat  of  exposing 
Meadows  to  the  British  if  he  refused.  In  any  event, 
she  knew  that,  once  enlisted,  he  could  be  relied  on 
for  the  strictest  obedience  to  her  wishes.  It  needed 
not,  in  his  case,  the  additional  motive  for  secrecy, 
that  a  knowledge  of  his  employment  on  Margaret's 
business  would  compromise  him  with  General  Wash 
ington  and  Mr.  Faringfield. 

How  Meadows  contrived  to  meet  Ned,  to  open 
the  matter  to  him,  to  convey  the  ensuing  correspond 
ence,  to  avoid  discovery  upon  this  matter  in  the 
rebel  camp,  as  he  avoided  it  upon  Washington's 


WIN  WOOD    COMES    TO  SEE   HIS    WIFE.        22$ 

business  in  New  York,  is  beyond  me  :  if  it  were  not, 
I  should  be  as  skilful,  as  fit  for  such  work,  as  Mead 
ows  himself.  'Tis  well-known  now  what  marvellously 
able  secret  agents  Washington  made  use  of ;  how  to 
each  side  many  of  them  had  to  play  the  part  of  spies 
upon  the  other  side ;  how  they  were  regarded  with 
equal  suspicion  in  both  camps ;  and  how  some  of 
them  really  served  their  enemies  in  order  finally  to 
serve  their  friends.  More  than  one  of  them,  indeed, 
played  a  double  game,  receiving  pay  from  both  sides, 
and  earning  it  from  both,  each  commander  conceiving 
himself  to  be  the  one  benefited.  In  comparison  with 
such  duplicity,  the  act  of  Meadows,  in  undertaking 
Margaret's  private  business  as  a  secret  matter  adjunc- 
tive  to  his  main  employment,  was  honesty  itself. 

'Tis  thus  explained  why,  though  Margaret  might 
communicate  with  her  brother  in  the  enemy's  camp, 
she  got  no  word  from  her  husband  there.  But  his 
thoughts  and  his  wishes  had  scarce  another  subject 
than  herself.  The  desire  to  see  her,  possessed  him 
more  and  more  wholly.  He  imagined  that  her  state 
of  mind  must  in  this  be  a  reflection  of  his  own. 
Long  ago  her  anger  must  have  died  —  nay,  had  it 
not  passed  in  that  farewell  embrace  when  she  held 
up  her  face  to  invite  his  kiss  ?  The  chastening  years 
of  separation,  the  knowledge  of  his  toils  and  dangers, 
must  have  wrought  upon  her  heart,  to  make  it  more 
tender  to  him  than  ever.  She  must  grieve  at  their 


226  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

parting,  long  for  his  home-coming.  So  convinced 
was  he  of  such  feelings  on  her  part,  that  he  pitied 
her  for  them,  felt  the  start  of  many  a  tear  in  sorrow 
for  her  sorrow. 

"  Poor  girl !  "  he  thought.  "  How  her  face  would 
gladden  if  I  were  to  walk  into  her  presence  at  this 
moment ! " 

And  the  thought  gave  birth  to  the  resolution. 
The  joy  of  such  a  meeting  was  worth  a  thousand 
risks  and  efforts. 

His  first  step  was  to  get  leave  of  absence  and 
General  Washington's  permission  to  enter  New  York. 
The  former  was  quickly  obtained,  the  latter  less  so. 
But  if  he  failed  to  demonstrate  to  the  commander 
the  possible  profit  of  his  secretly  visiting  the  enemy's 
town,  he  convinced  him  that  the  entrance  was  not 
too  difficult  to  one  who  knew  the  land  so  well,  and 
who  could  so  easily  find  concealment.  Sympathising 
with  Philip's  private  motive  in  the  case,  trusting  him 
implicitly,  and  crediting  his  ability  to  take  care  of 
himself  in  even  so  perilous  a  matter,  Washington 
finally  gave  consent. 

Philip  rode  in  proper  manner  from  the  rebel  camp, 
bound  apparently  Southward,  as  if  perchance  he  bore 
despatches  to  the  rebel  civil  authorities  at  Philadel 
phia.  Once  out  of  observation,  he  concealed  his 
uniform  cap  and  outer  coat,  and  provided  himself  at 
a  New  Jersey  village  with  an  ordinary  felt  hat,  and 


WINWOOD    COMES   TO  SEE  HIS    WIFE.        22  / 

a  plain  dark  overcoat.  He  then  turned  from  the 
Southward  road,  circled  widely  about  the  rebel  camp, 
and  arrived  at  a  point  some  distance  north  of  it. 
Here,  in  a  hospitable  farmhouse,  he  passed  the 
night.  The  next  day,  he  rode  Eastward  for  the 
Hudson  River,  crossing  undiscovered  the  scanty,  ill- 
patrolled  line  of  rebel  outposts,  and  for  the  most  part 
refraining  from  use  of  the  main  roads,  deserted  as 
these  were.  By  woods  and  by-ways,  he  proceeded 
as  best  the  snow  -  covered  state  of  the  country 
allowed.  'Twas  near  dusk  on  the  second  day,  when 
he  came  out  upon  the  wooded  heights  that  looked 
coldly  down  upon  the  Hudson  a  few  miles  above  the 
spot  opposite  the  town  of  New  York. 

He  looked  across  the  river  and  Southeastward, 
knowing  that  beyond  the  low  hills  and  the  woods  lay 
the  town,  and  that  in  the  town  was  Margaret.  Then 
he  rode  back  from  the  crest  of  the  cliff  till  he  came 
to  the  head  of  a  ravine.  Down  this  he  led  his  beast, 
arriving  finally  at  the  narrow  strip  of  river-bank  at 
the  cliff's  foot.  He  followed  this  some  distance 
Southward,  still  leading  the  horse.  'Twas  not  yet 
so  dark  that  he  could  not  make  out  a  British  sloop- 
of-war,  and  further  down  the  river  the  less  distinct 
outline  of  a  frigate,  serving  as  sentinels  and  pro 
tectors  of  this  approach  to  the  town.  From  these 
he  was  concealed  by  the  bushes  that  grew  at  the 
river's  edge. 


228  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

At  last  he  turned  into  the  mouth  of  a  second 
ravine,  and,  rounding  a  sharp  side-spur  of  the  inter 
rupted  cliff,  came  upon  a  log  hut  built  upon  a  small 
level  shelf  of  earth.  At  one  end  of  this  structure 
was  a  pent-roof.  Philip  tied  his  horse  thereunder, 
and,  noting  a  kind  of  dim  glow  through  the  oiled 
paper  that  filled  the  cabin's  single  window,  gave  two 
double  knocks  followed  by  a  single  one,  upon  the 
plank  door.  This  was  soon  opened,  and  Philip 
admitted  to  the  presence  of  the  single  occupant,  an 
uncouth  fellow,  fisherman  and  hunter,  whose  acquaint 
ance  he  had  made  in  patrolling  the  New  Jersey  side 
at  the  head  of  his  troop.  The  man  was  at  heart  with 
the  rebels,  and  Winwood  knew  with  whom  he  had 
to  deal.  Indeed  Philip  had  laid  his  plans  carefully 
for  this  hazardous  visit,  in  accordance  with  his  knowl 
edge  of  the  neighbourhood  and  of  what  he  might 
rely  upon. 

"  I  wish  to  borrow  one  of  your  canoes,  Ellis,"  said 
he,  "  and  beg  your  attention  to  my  horse,  which  is  in 
the  shed.  Be  so  kind  as  to  give  it  feed,  and  to  cover 
it  with  a  blanket  if  you  have  such  a  thing.  But  leave 
it  in  the  shed,  and  ready  saddled ;  I  may  have  to 
ride  in  a  hurry.  I  sha'n't  need  you  with  me  in  the 
canoe  —  nor  any  supper,  I  thank  you,  sir." 

For  the  man,  with  the  taciturn  way  of  his  kind, 
had  motioned  toward  some  pork  frying  at  a  fire. 
With  no  thought  to  press,  or  to  question,  he  replied  : 


WIN  WOOD    COMES   TO  SEE   HIS    WIFE.        22Q 

"  I'll  fetch  the  canoe  down  the  gully,  cap'n.  You 
stay  here  and  warm  yourself  a  minute.  And  don't 
worry  about  your  hoss,  sir." 

A  few  minutes  later,  Philip  was  launched  upon  the 
dark  current  of  the  Hudson,  paddling  silently  toward 
the  Eastern  shore.  Darkness  had  now  fallen,  and  he 
trusted  it  to  hide  him  from  the  vigilance  of  the 
British  vessels  whose  lights  shone  dim  and  uncertain 
down  the  river. 

Much  larger  craft  landed  much  larger  crews  within 
our  lines,  on  no  darker  nights  —  as,  for  one  case, 
when  the  Whigs  came  down  in  whaleboats  and  set 
fire  to  the  country  mansion  of  our  General  De 
Lancey  at  Bloomingdale.  Philip  made  the  passage 
unseen,  and  drew  the  canoe  up  to  a  safe  place  under 
some  bushes  growing  from  the  face  of  a  low  bluff 
that  rose  from  the  slight  beach.  His  heart  galloped 
and  glowed  at  sense  of  being  on  the  same  island 
with  his  wife.  He  was  thrilled  to  think  that,  if  all 
went  well,  within  an  hour  or  two  he  should  hold  her 
in  his  arms. 

He  saw  to  the  priming  of  his  pistols,  and  loosened 
the  sword  that  hung  beneath  his  overcoat ;  and  then 
he  glided  some  way  down  the  strip  of  beach.  Com 
ing  to  a  convenient  place,  he  clambered  up  the  bluff, 
to  a  cleared  space  backed  by  woods. 

"  Who  goes  there  ? " 

'Twas  the  voice  of  a  man  who  had  suddenly  halted 


230  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

in  the  clearing,  half-way  between  the  woods  and  the 
crest  of  the  bluff.  The  snow  on  the  ground  enabled 
the  two  to  descry  each  other.  Winwood  saw  the 
man  raise  a  musket  to  his  shoulder. 

"A  word  with  you,  friend,"  said  Philip,  and  strode 
swiftly  forward  ere  the  sentinel  (who  was  a  loyalist 
volunteer,  not  a  British  regular)  had  the  wit  to  fire. 
Catching  the  musket-barrel  with  one  hand,  Winwood 
clapped  his  pistol  to  the  soldier's  breast  with  the 
other. 

"Now,"  says  he,  "if  you  give  a  sound,  I'll  send  a 
bullet  through  you.  If  I  pass  here,  'twill  bring  you 
no  harm,  for  none  shall  know  it  but  us  two.  Let  go 
your  musket  a  moment  —  I'll  give  it  back  to  you, 
man." 

A  pressure  of  the  pistol  against  the  fellow's  ribs 
brought  obedience.  Philip  dropped  the  musket,  and, 
with  his  foot,  dug  its  lock  into  the  snow,  spoiling  the 
priming. 

"  Now,"  he  continued,  "  I'll  leave  you,  and  remem 
ber,  if  you  raise  an  alarm,  you'll  be  blamed  for  not 
firing  upon  me." 

Whereupon  Philip  dashed  into  the  woods,  leaving 
the  startled  sentinel  to  pick  up  his  musket  and 
resume  his  round  as  if  naught  had  occurred.  The 
man  knew  that  his  own  comfort  lay  in  secrecy,  and 
his  comfort  outweighed  his  military  conscience. 

Through  woods  and    fields    Winwood  proceeded, 


WIN  WOOD    COMES   TO  SEE  HIS    WIFE.        23 1 

skirted  swamps  and  ponds,  and  waded  streams,  trav 
ersing  old  familiar  ground,  the  sight  of  which  brought 
back  memories  of  countless  holiday  rambles  in  the 
happy  early  days.  Margaret's  bright  face  and  merry 
voice,  her  smiles,  and  her  little  displays  of  partiality 
for  him,  were  foremost  in  each  recollection  ;  and  that 
he  was  so  soon  to  see  her  again,  appeared  too  won 
derful  for  belief.  He  went  forward  in  the  intoxica 
tion  of  joy,  singing  to  himself  as  a  boy  would  have 
done. 

He  knew  where  there  were  houses  and  barns  to 
avoid,  and  where  there  were  most  like  to  be  British 
cantonments.  At  length  he  was  so  near  the  town, 
that  he  was  surprised  to  have  come  upon  no  inner 
line  of  sentries.  Even  as  he  wondered,  he  emerged 
from  a  copse  into  a  field,  and  received  the  usual 
challenge  —  spoken  this  time  in  so  quick,  machine- 
like  a  manner,  and  accompanied  by  so  prompt  and 
precise  a  levelling  of  the  musket,  that  he  knew  'twas 
a  British  regular  he  had  to  deal  with. 

He  made  a  pretence  of  raising  a  pistol  to  shoot 
down  the  sentry.  This  brought  the  sentry's  fire, 
which  —  as  it  too  was  of  a  British  regular  of  those 
days  —  Philip  felt  safe  in  risking.  But  though  the 
shot  went  far  wide,  he  gave  a  cry  as  if  he  had  been 
hit,  and  staggered  back  into  the  woods.  He  was  no 
sooner  within  its  cover,  than  he  ran  swiftly  Eastward 
with  all  possible  silence.  He  had  noted  that  the 


232  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

sentry  had  been  pacing  in  that  direction ;  hence 
the  first  of  the  sentry's  comrades  to  run  up  would 
be  the  one  approaching  therefrom.  This  would 
leave  a  break  in  the  line,  at  that  part  of  it  East  of 
the  scene  of  the  alarm.  Philip  stopped  presently ; 
peered  forth  from  the  woods,  saw  the  second  sentry 
hasten  with  long  steps  Westward ;  and  then  made  a 
dash  across  the  latter's  tracks,  bending  low  his  body 
as  he  went.  He  thus  reached  a  cover  of  thicket, 
through  which  he  forced  his  way  in  time  to  emerge 
toward  the  town  ere  any  results  of  the  alarming 
gun-shot  were  manifest. 

Unless  he  were  willing  to  attempt  crossing  what 
British  defences  he  knew  not,  or  other  impediments 
that  might  bar  passage  to  the  town  elsewhere  than 
at  the  Bowery  lane  entrance,  he  must  now  pass  the 
guard  there,  which  served  for  the  town  itself  as 
the  outer  barriers  at  Kingsbridge  served  for  the 
whole  island  of  Manhattan.  He  chose  the  less 
tedious,  though  more  audacious  alternative  of  facing 
the  guard. 

He  could  not  employ  in  this  case  the  method 
used  in  passing  the  shore  patrol,  or  that  adopted  in 
crossing  the  line  of  sentinels  above  the  town ;  for 
here  the  road  was  the  only  open  way  through,  it  was 
flanked  by  a  guardhouse,  it  was  lighted  by  a  lantern 
that  hung  above  the  door,  and  the  sentinels  were 
disciplined  men.  Philip  gathered  these  facts  in  a 


WIN  WOOD    COMES   TO  SEE  HIS    WIFE.        233 

single  glance,  as  he  approached  by  slinking  along 
the  side  of  the  road,  into  which  he  had  crawled, 
through  a  rail  fence,  from  an  adjoining  field. 

He  was  close  upon  the  sentinels  who  paced  before 
the  guardhouse,  ere  he  was  discovered.  For  the 
third  time  that  night,  he  heard  the  challenge  and 
saw  the  threatening  movement. 

"All's  well,"  he  replied.  "I'll  give  an  account 
of  myself."  And  he  stepped  forward,  grasping  one 
of  his  pistols,  not  by  the  breech,  but  by  the  barrel. 

"  Stop  where  you  are !  "  said  the  sentry,  menac 
ingly. 

Philip  stood  still,  raised  the  pistol,  flung  it  at  the 
lantern,  and  instantly  dropped  to  his  knees.  The 
sentinel's  musket  flashed  and  cracked.  Total  dark 
ness  ensued.  Philip  glided  forward  between  the  two 
men,  his  footfalls  drowned  by  the  sound  of  their 
curses.  When  past  them,  he  hurled  his  remaining 
pistol  back  over  his  shoulder  toward  a  mass  of  bushes 
on  the  further  side  of  the  sentinels.  Its  descent 
through  the  brush  had  some  sound  of  a  man's  leap, 
and  would,  he  hoped,  lead  the  enemy  to  think  he 
might  have  escaped  in  that  direction.  By  the  time 
the  noise  of  a  commotion  reached  him,  with  orders 
to  turn  out  the  guard,  he  was  past  the  building  used 
as  a  prison  for  his  fellow  rebels,  and  was  hastening 
along  the  side  of  the  common  —  now  diverted  to 
camp  uses  of  the  British  as  it  had  been  to  those  of 


234  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

the  rebels  —  able  to  find  the  rest  of  his  way  in  Egyp 
tian  blackness.  He  knew  what  alleys  to  take,  what 
short  cuts  to  make  by  traversing  gardens,  what  ways 
were  most  like  to  be  deserted.  The  streets  in  the 
part  of  the  town  through  which  he  had  to  pass  were 
nearly  empty,  the  taverns,  the  barracks,  and  most  of 
the  officers'  quarters  being  elsewhere.  And  so,  with 
a  heart  elated  beyond  my  power  of  expression,  he 
leaped  finally  into  the  rear  garden  of  the  Faringfield 
mansion,  and  strode,  as  if  on  air,  toward  the  veranda. 
He  had  guessed  that  the  family  would  be  in  the 
smaller  parlour,  or  the  library,  and  so  he  was  not  sur 
prised  to  see  all  the  lower  windows  dark  that  were 
visible  from  the  direction  of  his  approach.  But, 
which  gave  him  a  thrill  of  delightful  conjecture,  two 
upper  windows  shone  with  light  —  those  above  the 
great  parlour  and  hence  belonging  to  one  of  the 
chambers  formerly  occupied  by  Margaret  and  him. 
He  knew  no  reason  why  his  wife  should  not  still  re 
tain  the  same  rooms.  She  would,  then,  be  there,  and 
probably  alone.  He  might  go  to  her  while  none  was 
present  to  chill  their  meeting,  none  before  whom  her 
pride  might  induce  her  to  conceal  the  completeness 
of  her  reconciliation,  or  to  moderate  the  joy  of  her 
greeting.  Would  she  weep  ?  Would  she  laugh  ? 
Would  she  cry  out  ?  Would  she  merely  fall  into  his 
arms  with  a  glad  smile  and  cling  in  a  long  embrace 
under  his  lingering  kiss  ?  He  trembled  like  a  school- 


WIN  WOOD    COMES   TO  SEE   HIS    WIFE.        235 

boy  as  he  climbed  the  trellis-work  to  enter  by  a 
window. 

Creeping  up  the  sloping,  snow-covered  roof  of  the 
veranda,  he  came  at  length  to  the  window,  and 
looked  in.  The  chamber  was  empty,  but  the  door 
was  ajar  that  led  to  the  apartment  in  front,  used  as  a 
sitting-room.  She  must  be  in  that  room,  for  his  first 
glance  had  recognised  many  of  her  trinkets  and  pos 
sessions  in  the  first  chamber.  He  asked  himself  if 
the  years  had  changed  her  :  they  would  have  made 
her  a  little  graver,  doubtless. 

He  opened  the  window  so  slowly  that  the  noise 
was  scarce  perceptible.  Then  he  clambered  over  the 
ledge  into  the  chamber ;  strode  tiptoe  toward  the 
next  room,  catching  a  mirrored  glimpse  of  his  face 
as  he  passed  her  dressing-table  —  the  most  joyous, 
eager  face  in  the  world.  He  pushed  the  door  further 
open,  and  stepped  across  the  threshold.  She  was 
there,  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  standing  in  medita 
tion,  her  face  turned  by  chance  toward  the  door 
through  which  he  entered. 

"  My  dear,"  said  he,  in  a  voice  scarce  above  a  whis 
per  ;  and  started  toward  her,  with  arms  held  out,  and 
(I  am  sure)  a  very  angel's  smile  of  joy  and  love  upon 
his  face. 

She  opened  her  eyes  and  lips  in  wonder,  and  then 
stood  pale  and  rigid  as  marble,  and  made  a  faint  ges 
ture  to  check  his  approach.  As  he  halted  in  aston- 


236  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

ishment,  his  joy  dying  at  her  look,  she  whispered 
hoarsely  : 

"  You  !  You,  of  all  men  \  And  to-night,  of  all 
nights ! " 

'Twas  the  night  of  our  setting  forth  upon  her  great 
design  of  seizing  his  commander-in-chief. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

Their  Interview. 

PHILIP  took  note,  at  the  time,  rather  of  her  look 
than  of  her  words. 

"Why,  dear,"  said  he,  "don't  be  frightened.  Tis 
I,  Philip  —  'tis  not  my  ghost." 

"Yes,  'tis  you  —  I  know  that  well  enough." 

"  Then  —   "  he  began,  and  stepped  toward  her. 

But  she  retreated  with  such  a  movement  that  he 
stopped  again. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  questioned.  "Why  do 
you  look  so  ?  —  This  is  scarce  the  welcome  I  had 
imagined." 

"Why  are  you  here?"  she  asked,  in  a  low  voice, 
regarding  him  steadily.  "  How  did  you  come  ?  What 
does  it  mean  ?  " 

"  It  means  I  love  you  so  much,  I  could  stay  no 
longer  from  seeing  you.  I  came  by  horse,  boat,  and 
foot.  I  passed  the  British  sentries." 

"  You  risked  your  life,  then  ?  " 

"  Oh,  of  course.  If  they  caught  me  inside  their 
lines,  they  would  hang  me  as  a  spy.  But  — 

237 


238  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

She  could   not    but   be  touched  at  this.     "  Poor 
Philip !  "  she  murmured,  with  a  tremor  in  her  voice. 

"Not  poor,"  said  he,  "now  that  I  am  with  you  — 
if  you  would  not  draw  back,  and  look  so.     What  is 
wrong  ?     Am  I  —  unwelcome  ?  " 

She  saw  that,  to  be  true  to  her  design,  to  her  elab 
orate  plan  for  the  future,  she  must  not  soften  toward 
him  —  for  his  reappearance,  with  the  old-time  boyish 
look  and  manner,  the  fond  expression  now  wistful 
and  alarmed,  the  tender  eyes  now  startled  and 
affrighted,  revived  much  that  had  been  dormant  in 
her  heart,  and  made  Captain  Falconer  seem  a  very 
far-off  and  casual  person.  Against  the  influence  of 
Philip's  presence,  and  the  effect  of  his  having  so  im 
perilled  himself  to  see  her,  she  had  to  arm  herself 
with  coldness,  or  look  upon  the  success  of  her  project 
as  going  for  naught  to  her  advantage.  She  dared  not 
contemplate  the  forfeit  ;  so  she  hardened  her  heart. 

"Why,"  she  said,  with  a  forced  absence  of  feeling, 
"  so  many  years  have  passed  —  so  many  things  have 
happened  —  you  appear  so  much  a  stranger  —  ' 

"  Stranger  !  "  echoed  he.  "  Why,  not  if  you  had 
thought  of  me  half  as  constantly  as  I  have  of  you ! 
You  have  been  in  my  mind,  in  my  heart,  every  hour, 
every  minute  since  that  day  —  Can  it  be  ?  Is  it  my 
Margaret  that  stands  there  and  speaks  so  ?  So  un 
moved  to  see  me  !  So  cold  !  Oh,  who  would  have 
expected  this  ? " 


THEIR   INTERVIEW.  239 

He  sat  down  and  gazed  wretchedly  about  the 
room,  taking  no  cognisance  of  what  objects  his  sight 
fell  upon.  Margaret  seated  herself,  with  a  sigh  of 
annoyance,  and  regarded  him  with  a  countenance 
of  displeasure. 

"  Margaret,  do  you  mean  what  you  say  ?  "  he  asked, 
after  a  short  silence. 

"I'm  sure  you  shouldn't  blame  me,"  said  she. 
"  You  enabled  me  to  learn  how  to  endure  your 
absence.  You  stayed  away  all  these  years.  Natu 
rally  I've  come  to  consider  you  as  — " 

"  Nay,  don't  attempt  to  put  me  in  the  wrong.  My 
heart  is  as  warm  to  you  as  ever,  in  spite  of  the  years 
of  absence.  Those  years  have  made  no  change  in 
me.  Why  should  they  have  changed  you,  then  ? 
No  —  'tis  not  their  fault  if  you  are  changed,  nor 
mine  neither.  There  is  something  wrong,  I  see.  Be 
frank,  dear,  and  tell  me  what  it  is.  You  need  not 
be  afraid  of  me  —  you  know  I  wouldn't  hurt  a  hair 
of  your  head.  Oh,  sweetheart,  what  has  come  be 
tween  us  ?  Tell  me,  I  beg !  " 

"  Why,  nothing,  of  course  —  nothing  but  the  gulf 
that  time  has  widened.  That's  all  —  sure  'tis 
enough." 

"But  'tis  more  than  that.  Were  that  all,  and  I 
came  back  to  you  thus,  a  minute's  presence  would 
bridge  that  gulf.  All  the  old  feelings  would  rush 
back.  Why,  if  I  were  but  a  mere  acquaintance 


240  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

whom  you  had  once  known  in  a  friendly  way,  you 
wouldn't  have  greeted  me  so  coldly.  There  would 
have  been  cordiality,  smiles,  a  warm  clasp  of  the 
hand,  questions  about  my  health  and  doings,  at  least 
a  curiosity  as  to  how  I  had  passed  the  years.  But 
you  meet  me,  not  merely  with  lack  of  warmth,  but 
with  positive  coldness.  Nay,  you  were  shocked, 
startled,  frightened !  You  turned  white,  and  stood 
still  as  if  you  saw  a  spirit,  or  as  if  you  were  caught 
in  some  crime !  Yes,  'twas  for  all  the  world  like 
that !  And  what  was't  you  said  ?  It  passed  me 
then,  I  was  so  amazed  at  my  reception  —  so 
different  from  the  one  I  had  pictured  all  the  way 
thither,  all  the  weeks  and  months.  What  was't  you 
said  ? " 

"  Some  word  of  surprise,  I  suppose  ;  something  of 
no  meaning." 

"  Nay,  it  had  meaning,  too.  I  felt  that,  though  I 
put  it  aside  for  the  time.  Something  about  the 
night  —  ah,  yes:  'to-night  of  all  nights.'  And  me 
of  all  men.  Why  so  ?  Why  to-night  in  particular  ? 
Why  am  I  the  most  inconvenient  visitor,  and  why 
to-night  ?  Tell  me  that !  Tell  me  —  I  have  the  right 
to  know !  " 

"  Nay,  if  you  work  yourself  up  into  a  fury  so  —  " 

"'Tis  no  senseless  fury,  madam!  There's  reason 
at  the  bottom  of  it,  my  lady !  I  must  know,  and  I 
will  know,  what  it  is  that  my  visit  interferes  with. 


THEIR   INTERVIEW.  24! 

You  were  not  going  out,  I  can  see  by  your  dress. 
Nor  expecting  company.  Unless  —  no,  it  couldn't 
be  that !  You're  not  capable  of  that !  You  are  my 
wife,  you  are  Margaret  Faringfield,  William  Faring- 
field's  daughter.  God  forgive  the  mistrust  —  yet 
every  husband  with  an  imagination  has  tortured  him 
self  for  an  instant  sometime  with  that  thought,  sup 
pose  his  wife's  heart  might  stray  ?  I've  heard  'em 
confess  the  thought ;  and  even  I  —  but  what  a  hell  it 
was  for  the  moment  it  lasted !  And  how  swiftly  I 
put  it  from  me,  to  dwell  on  your  tenderness  in  the 
old  days,  your  pride  that  has  put  you  above  the 
hopes  of  all  men  but  me,  the  unworthy  one  you 
chose  to  reach  down  your  hand  to  from  your  higher 
level !  " 

"  So  you  have  harboured  that  suspicion,  have 
you  ? "  she  cried,  with  flashing  eyes. 

"  No,  no  ;  harboured  it  never !  Only  let  my  per 
verse  imagination  'light,  for  the  space  of  a  breath, 
on  the  possibility,  to  my  unutterable  torment.  All 
men's  fancies  play  'em  such  tricks  now  and  then,  to 
torture  them  and  take  down  their  vanity.  Men 
would  rest  too  easy  in  their  security,  were  it  not  so." 

"  A  man  that  suspects  his  wife,  deserves  to  lose 
her  allegiance,"  cried  Margaret,  with  a  kind  of  tri 
umphant  imputation  of  blame,  which  was  her  betrayal. 

He  gazed  at  her  with  the  dawning  horror  of  half- 
conviction. 


242  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

"  Then  I  have  lost  yours  ? "  he  asked,  in  a  tone 
stricken  with  doubt  and  dread. 

"  I  didn't  say  so,"  she  replied,  reddening. 

"  But  your  words  imply  that.  You  seemed  to  be 
justifying  yourself  by  my  suspicion.  But  there  was 
no  suspicion  till  now  —  nothing  but  a  tormenting 
fancy  of  what  I  believed  impossible.  So  you  cannot 
excuse  yourself  that  way." 

"  I'm  not  trying  to  excuse  myself.  There's  noth 
ing  to  excuse." 

"  I'm  not  sure  of  that !  Your  manner  looks  as  if 
you  realised  having  said  too  much  —  having  betrayed 
yourself.  Margaret,  for  God's  sake,  tell  me  'tis  not 
so  !  Tell  me  my  fears  are  wrong  !  Assure  me  I  have 
not  lost  you  —  no,  no,  I  won't  even  ask  you.  'Tis 
not  possible.  I  won't  believe  it  of  you  —  that  you 
could  be  inconstant !  Forgive  me,  dear  —  your 
strange  manner  has  so  upset  me  —  but  forgive  me,  I 
beg,  and  let  me  take  you  in  my  arms."  He  had 
risen  to  approach  her. 

"  No,  no  !  Don't.  Don't  touch  me !  "  she  cried, 
rising  in  turn,  for  resistance.  She  kept  her  mind 
fixed  upon  the  expected  rewards  of  her  project,  and 
so  fortified  herself  against  yielding. 

"  By  heaven,  I'll  know  what  this  means  !  "  he  cried. 
He  looked  wildly  about  the  room,  as  if  the  expla 
nation  might  somewhere  there  be  found.  Her  own 
glance  went  with  his,  as  if  there  might  indeed  be 


'"HE    IS    A — AN    ACQUAINTANCE.' 


THEIR   INTERVIEW.  243 

some  evidence,  which  she  must  either  make  shift  to 
conceal,  or  invent  an  innocent  reason  for  its  presence. 
Her  eye  rested  an  instant  upon  a  book  that  lay  on 
the  table.  Philip  noted  this,  picked  up  the  book, 
turned  the  cover,  and  read  the  name  on  the  first 
leaf. 

"  '  Charles  Falconer.'     Who  is  he  ?  " 

"No  matter,"  she  said  quickly,  and  made  to 
snatch  the  book  away.  "  He  is  a  —  an  acquaintance. 
He  is  quartered  in  the  house,  in  fact  —  a  British 
officer." 

"  An  acquaintance  ?  But  why  do  you  turn  red  ? 
Why  look  so  confused  ?  Why  try  to  take  the  book 
away  from  me  ?  Oh,  my  God,  it  is  true!  it  is  true  !  " 
He  dropped  the  volume,  sank  back  upon  a  chair,  and 
regarded  her  with  indescribable  grief. 

"Why,"  she  blundered,  "a  gentleman  may  lend  a 
lady  a  novel  —  " 

"  Oh,  the  lending  is  nothing  !  'Twas  your  look  and 
action  when  I  read  his  name.  'Tis  your  look  now, 
your  look  of  guilt.  Oh,  to  see  that  flush  of  discovered 
shame  on  your  face  !  You  care  for  this  man,  I  can 
see  that !  " 

"Well,  what  if  I  do?" 

"  Then  you  confess  it  ?  Oh,  can  it  be  you  that  say 
this?  —  you  that  stand  there  with  eyes  that  drop 
before  mine  for  shame  —  nay,  eyes  that  you  raise 
with  defiance !  Brazen  —  oh,  my  God,  my  God, 


244  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

tell  me  'tis  all  a  mistake !  Tell  me  I  wrong  you, 
dear ;  that  you  are  still  mine,  my  Margaret,  my 
Madge  —  little  Madge,  that  found  me  a  home  that 
day  I  came  to  New  York ;  my  pretty  Madge,  that 
cried  when  I  was  going  to  leave  on  Ned's  account ; 
that  I  loved  the  first  moment  I  saw  her,  and  — 
always —  " 

He  broke  down  at  this,  and  leaned  forward  upon 
the  table,  covering  his  face  with  his  hands.  When 
he  next  looked  up,  with  haggard  countenance,  he 
saw  her  lips  twitching  and  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"Ah!"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  flash  of  hope,  and 
half  rose  to  go  to  her. 

"  No,  no  !  Let  me  alone  !  "  she  cried,  escaping 
narrowly  from  that  surrender  to  her  feelings  which 
would  have  meant  forfeiting  the  fruits  of  her  long 
planning. 

His  mood  changed. 

"I'll  not  endure  this,"  he  cried,  rising  and  pacing 
the  floor.  "You'll  find  I'm  no  such  weakling,  though 
I  can  weep  for  my  wife  when  I  lose  her  love.  He 
shall  find  it  so,  too !  I  understand  now  what  you 
meant  by  '  to-night  of  all  nights.'  He  was  to  meet 
you  to-night.  He's  quartered  in  the  house,  you  say. 
He  was  to  slink  up,  no  doubt,  when  all  were  out  of 
the  way  —  your  father  divines  little  of  this,  I'll  war 
rant.  Well,  he  may  come  —  but  he  shall  find  me 
waiting  at  my  wife's  door !  " 


THEIR   INTERVIEW.  24$ 

"You'll  wait  in  vain,  then.  He  is  very  far  from 
here  to-night." 

"  I'll  believe  that  when  it's  proven.  I  find  'tis  well 
that  I,  'of  all  men,'  came  here  to-night." 

"Nay,  you're  mistaken.  You  had  been  more  like 
to  find  him  to-night  where  you  came  from,  than 
where  you've  come  to." 

How  true  it  is  that  a  woman  may  always  be  relied 
on  to  say  a  word  too  much — whether  for  the  sake 
of  a  taunt,  or  the  mere  necessity  of  giving  an  apt 
answer,  I  presume  not  to  decide. 

"What  can  that  mean  ?  "  said  he,  arrested  by  the 
peculiarity  of  her  tone  and  look.  "  Find  him  where 
I  came  from  ?  Why,  that's  our  camp.  What  does 
he  do  there,  '  to-night  of  all  nights  ? '  Explain 
yourself." 

"  Nothing  at  all.     I  spoke  without  thinking." 

"  The  likelier  to  have  spoken  true,  then  !  So  your 
—  acquaintance  —  might  be  found  in  our  camp  to 
night  ?  Charles  Falconer,  a  British  officer.  I  can't 
imagine  —  not  as  a  spy,  surely.  Oho  !  is  there  some 
expedition  ?  Some  attack,  some  midnight  surprise  ? 
This  requires  looking  into." 

"  I  fear  you  will  not  find  out  much.  And  if  you 
did,  it  would  be  too  late  for  you  to  carry  a  warning." 

"  The  expedition  has  too  great  a  start  of  me  —  is 
that  what  you  mean  ?  That's  to  be  seen.  I  might 
beat  Mr.  Falconer  in  this,  as  he  has  beaten  me  — 


246  PHILIP    IV IN  WOOD. 

elsewhere.  I  know  the  Jersey  roads  better  than  I 
have  known  my  wife's  heart,  perchance.  What  is 
this  expedition  ? " 

"  Do  you  think  I  would  tell  you  —  if  there  were 
one?" 

"  I'm  satisfied  there  is  some  such  thing.  But 
I  doubt  no  warning  of  mine  is  needed,  to  defeat 
it.  Our  army  is  alert  for  these  night  attempts. 
We've  had  too  many  of  'em.  If  there  be  one  afoot 
to-night,  so  much  the  worse  for  those  engaged 
in  it." 

This  irritated  her ;  and  she  never  used  the  skill  to 
guard  her  speech,  at  her  calmest ;  so  she  answered 
quickly : 

"  Not  if  it's  helped  by  traitors  in  your  camp !  " 

"  What  ?  —  But  how  should  you,  a  woman,  know 
of  such  a  matter  ? " 

"You'll  see,  when  the  honours  are  distributed." 

"This  is  very  strange.  You  are  in  this  officer's 
confidence,  perhaps.  He  is  unwise  to  trust  you  so 
far  —  you  have  told  me  enough  to  — 

"There's  no  more  need  of  secrecy.  Captain 
Falconer's  men  are  well  on  their  way  to  Morris- 
town.  Even  if  you  got  out  of  our  lines  as  easily 
as  you  got  in,  you  could  only  meet  our  troops  return 
ing  with  your  general." 

Doubtless  she  conceived  that  by  taunting  him,  at 
this  safe  hour,  with  this  prevision  of  her  success,  she 


THEIR  INTERVIEW.  24? 

helped  the  estrangement  which  she  felt  necessary  to 
her  enjoyment  of  her  expected  rewards. 

"Oho!"  quoth  he,  with  a  bitter,  derisive  laugh. 
"Another  attempt  to  seize  Washington  !  What  folly  !  " 

"  Not  when  we  are  helped  by  treason  in  your 
camp,  as  I  said  before.  Folly,  is  it  ?  You'll  sing 
another  song  to-morrow  !  " 

She  smiled  with  anticipated  triumph,  and  the  smile 
had  in  it  so  much  of  the  Madge  of  other  days,  that 
his  bitterness  forsook  him,  and  admiration  and  love 
returned  to  sharpen  his  grief. 

"Oh,  Madge,  dear,  could  I  but  win  you  back!  "  he 
murmured,  wistfully. 

"What,  in  that  strain  again!"  she  said,  petulant 
at  each  revival  of  the  self-reproach  his  sorrow  caused 
in  her. 

"  Ay,  if  I  had  but  the  chance !  If  I  might  be  with 
you  long  enough,  if  I  might  reawaken  the  old  tender 
ness  !  —  But  I  forget ;  treason  in  our  camp,  you  say. 
There  is  danger,  then  —  ay,  there's  always  the  possi 
bility.  The  devil's  in  it,  that  I  must  tear  myself  from 
you  now ;  that  I  must  part  with  you  while  matters 
are  so  wrong  between  us ;  that  I  must  leave  you 
when  I  would  give  ten  years  of  life  for  one  hour 
to  win  your  love  back !  But  you  will  take  my  hand, 
let  me  kiss  you  once  — -  you  will  do  that  for  the  sake 
of  the  old  times  —  and  then  I  will  be  gone  !  " 

"  Be  gone  ?     Where  ? " 


248  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

"  Back  to  camp,  of  course,  to  give  warning  of  this 
expedition." 

"  'Tis  impossible  !     'Tis  hours  — 

"  'Tis  not  impossible  —  I  will  outride  them.  They 
wouldn't  have  started  before  dark." 

"  You  would  only  overtake  them,  at  your  best.  Do 
you  think  they  would  let  you  pass  ? " 

"  Poh  !  I  know  every  road.  I  can  ride  around 
them.  I'll  put  the  army  in  readiness  for  'em,  treason 
or  no  treason  !  For  the  present,  good-bye  — 

The  look  in  his  face  —  of  power  and  resolution  — 
gave  her  a  sudden  sense  of  her  triumph  slipping  out 
of  her  grasp. 

"  You  must  not  go  !  "  she  cried,  quite  awakened  to 
the  peril  of  the  situation  to  her  enterprise. 

"  I  must !     Good-bye  !     One  kiss,  I  beg  !  " 

"  But  you  sha'n't  go !  "  As  he  came  close  to  her, 
she  clasped  him  tightly  with  both  arms.  She  made 
no  attempt  to  avoid  his  kiss,  and  he,  taking  this  for  ac 
quiescence,  bestowed  the  kiss  upon  unresponsive  lips. 

"  Now  let  me  go,"  said  he,  turning  to  stride  toward 
the  door  by  which  he  had  entered  from  the  rear 
chamber. 

"  No,  no  !  Stay.  Time  to  win  back  my  love,  you 
said.  Take  the  time  now.  You  may  find  me  not  so 
difficult  of  winning  back.  Nay,  I  have  never  ceased 
to  love  you,  at  the  bottom  of  my  heart.  I  love  you 
now.  You  shall  stay." 


THEIR  INTERVIEW.  249 

"  I  must  not,  I  dare  not.  Oh,  I  would  to  God  I 
could  believe  you  !  But  whether  'tis  true,  or  a  device 
to  keep  me  here,  I  will  not  stay.  Let  me  go !  " 

"  I  will  not !  You  will  have  to  force  me  from  you, 
first !  I  tell  you  I  love  you  —  my  husband  !  " 

"  If  you  love  me,  you  will  let  me  go." 

"  If  you  love  me,  you  will  stay." 

"  Not  a  moment  —  though  God  knows  how  I  love 
you  !  I  will  come  to  see  you  soon  again." 

"  If  you  go  now,  I  will  never  let  you  see  me  again  ! 
—  Nay,  you  must  drag  me  after  you,  then  !  " 

He  was  moving  toward  the  door  despite  her  hold  ; 
and  now  he  caught  her  wrists  to  force  open  the  clasp 
in  which  she  held  him. 

"  Oh  !  you  are  crushing  my  arms  !  "  she  cried. 

"Ay,  the  beautiful,  dear  arms — God  bless  them! 
But  let  me  go,  then  !  " 

"  I  won't !  You  will  have  to  kill  me,  first !  You 
shall  not  spoil  my  scheme  !  " 

"Yours!" 

"  Yes,  mine !  Mine,  against  your  commander, 
against  your  cause ! "  She  was  wrought  up  now 
to  a  fury,  at  the  physical  force  he  exerted  to  release 
himself ;  and  for  the  time,  swayed  by  her  feelings 
only,  she  let  policy  fly  to  the  winds.  "  Your  cause 
that  I  hate,  because  it  ruined  my  hopes  before !  You 
are  a  fool  if  you  think  my  being  your  wife  would  have 
kept  me  from  fighting  your  hateful  cause.  I  became 


250  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

your  wife  that  I  might  go  to  England,  and  when  that 
failed  I  was  yours  no  longer.  Love  another  ?  Yes  ! 
—  and  you  shall  not  spoil  his  work  and  mine  —  not 
unless  you  kill  me  !  " 

For  a  moment  his  mental  anguish,  his  overwhelm 
ing  shame  for  her,  unnerved  him,  and  he  stared  at 
her  with  a  ghastly  face,  relaxing  his  pressure  for 
freedom.  But  this  weakness  was  followed  by  a 
fierce  reaction.  His  countenance  darkened,  and 
with  one  effort,  the  first  into  which  he  had  put  his 
real  strength,  he  tore  her  arms  from  him.  White- 
faced  and  breathing  fast,  with  rage  and  fear  of  defeat, 
she  ran  to  a  front  window,  and  flung  it  open. 

"  By  heaven,  I'll  stop  you!"  she  cried.  "Help! 
A  rebel  —  a  spy  !  Ah,  you  men  yonder  —  this  way  ! 
A  rebel  spy  !  " 

Philip  looked  over  her  head,  out  of  the  window. 
Far  up  the  street  swaggered  five  or  six  figures 
which,  upon  coming  under  a  corner  lamp  whose 
rays  yellowed  a  small  circle  of  snow,  showed  to  be 
those  of  British  soldiers.  Their  unaltered  move 
ments  evidenced  that  they  had  not  heard  her  cry. 
Thereupon  she  shouted,  with  an  increased  voice  : 

"  Soldiers  !  Help  !  Surround  this  house  !  A 
rebel  —  " 

She  got  no  further,  for  Philip  dragged  her  away 
from  the  window,  and,  when  she  essayed  to  scream 
the  louder,  he  placed  one  hand  over  her  mouth,  the 


THEIR   INTERVIEW.  2$  I 

other  about  her  neck.  Holding  her  thus,  he  forced 
her  into  the  rear  chamber,  and  then  toward  the  win 
dow  by  which  he  meant  to  leave.  At  its  very  ledge 
he  let  her  go,  and  made  to  step  out  to  the  roof  of 
the  veranda.  But  she  grasped  his  clothes  with  the 
power  of  rage  and  desperation,  and  set  up  another 
screaming  for  help. 

In  an  agony  of  mind  at  having  to  use  such  painful 
violence  against  a  woman,  and  how  much  more  so 
against  the  wife  he  still  loved  ;  and  at  the  grievous 
appearance  that  she  was  willing  to  sacrifice  him  upon 
the  British  gallows  rather  than  let  him  mar  her  pur 
pose,  he  flung  her  away  with  all  necessary  force,  so 
that,  with  a  final  shriek  of  pain  and  dismay,  she  fell 
to  the  floor  exhausted. 

He  cast  an  anguished  glance  upon  her,  as  she  lay 
defeated  and  half-fainting ;  and,  knowing  not  to  what 
fate  he  might  be  leaving  her,  he  moaned,  "  God  pity 
her !  "  and  stepped  out  upon  the  sloping  roof.  He 
scrambled  to  the  edge,  let  himself  half-way  down  by  the 
trellis,  leaped  the  rest  of  the  distance,  and  ran  through 
the  back  garden  from  the  place  he  had  so  well  loved. 

While  his  wife,  lying  weak  upon  the  floor  of  her 
chamber,  gazed  at  the  window  through  which  he  had 
disappeared,  and,  as  if  a  new  change  had  occurred 
within  her,  sobbed  in  consternation  : 

"  Oh,  what  have  I  done  ?  He  is  a  man,  indeed  ! 
—  and  I  have  lost  him  !  " 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

Wherein  Captain    Winwood  Declines  a  Promotion. 

PHILIP  assumed  that  the  greatest  risk  would  lie  in 
departing  the  town  by  the  route  over  which  he  had 
made  his  entrance,  and  in  which  he  had  left  a  trail 
of  alarm.  His  best  course  would  be  in  the  opposite 
direction. 

Therefore,  having  leaped  across  the  fence  to  the 
alley  behind  the  Faringfield  grounds,  he  turned  to  the 
right  and  ran  ;  for  he  had  bethought  him,  while  flee 
ing  through  the  garden,  that  he  might  probably 
find  a  row-boat  at  the  Faringfield  wharves.  He 
guessed  that,  as  the  port  of  New  York  was  open 
to  all  but  the  rebel  Americans  and  their  allies  the 
French,  Mr.  Faringfield  would  have  continued  his 
trade  in  the  small  way  possible,  under  the  British 
flag,  that  his  loss  by  the  war  might  be  the  less,  and 
his  means  of  secretly  aiding  the  rebel  cause  might 
be  the  more.  So  there  would  still  be  some  little 
shipping,  and  its  accessories,  at  the  wharves. 

Though  the  British  occupation  had  greatly  changed 

the  aspect  of  the  town  by  daylight,  it  had  not  altered 

252 


WINWOOD  DECLINES  A    PROMOTION.        253 

the  topography  of  that  part  which  Philip  had  to  trav 
erse,  and  the  darkness  that  served  as  his  shield  was 
to  him  no  impediment.  Many  a  time,  in  the  old  days, 
we  had  chased  and  fled  through  those  streets  and 
alleys,  in  make-believe  deer-hunts  or  mimic  Indian 
warfare.  So,  without  a  collision  or  a  stumble,  he 
made  his  way  swiftly  to  the  mouth  of  a  street  that 
gave  upon  the  water-front,  by  the  Faringfield  ware 
house  where  so  many  busy  days  of  his  boyhood  and 
youth  had  passed,  and  opposite  the  wharves. 

He  paused  here,  lacking  knowledge  whether  the 
river  front  was  guarded  or  not.  He  saw  no  human 
being,  but  could  not  be  sure  whether  or  not  some 
dark  form  might  emerge  from  the  dimness  when  he 
should  cross  to  the  wharves.  These,  like  the  street 
and  the  roofs,  were  snow-covered.  Aloft  beyond 
them,  but  close,  two  or  three  faint  lights,  tiny 
yellow  islets  in  a  sea  of  gloom,  revealed  the  presence 
of  the  shipping  on  which  he  had  counted.  He  could 
hear  the  slap  of  the  inky  water  against  the  piles,  but 
scarce  another  sound,  save  his  own  breathing. 

He  formed  the  intention  of  making  a  noiseless 
dash  across  the  waterside  street,  with  body  bent  low, 
to  the  part  of  the  wharf  where  a  small  boat  was  most 
like  to  be.  He  was  standing  close  to  one  side  of  a 
wooden  building  that  fronted  toward  the  wharf. 

He  sprang  forward,  and,  just  as  he  passed  the 
corner  of  the  edifice,  his  head  struck  something 


254  PHILIP   WIN  WOOD. 

heavy  but  yielding,  which  toppled  over  sidewise 
with  a  grunt,  and  upon  which  Philip  fell  prone,  forc 
ing  from  it  a  second  grunt  a  little  less  vigorous  than 
the  first.  'Twas  a  human  body,  that  had  come 
from  the  front  of  the  house  at  the  same  instant  in 
which  Philip  had  darted  from  along  the  side. 

"  Shall  I  choke  him  to  assure  silence  ? "  Phil  hur 
riedly  asked  himself,  and  instinctively  made  to  put 
his  hands  to  the  man's  neck.  But  the  body  under 
him  began  to  wriggle,  to  kick  out  with  its  legs,  and  to 
lay  about  with  its  hands. 

"  What  the  hell  d'yuh  mean  ?  "  it  gasped.  "  Git  off 
o'  me !  " 

Philip  scrambled  promptly  to  his  feet,  having  recog 
nised  the  voice. 

"  I'll  stake  my  life,  it's  Meadows  !  " 

"Yes,  it  is,  and  who  in  the  name  of  hellfire  an' 
brimstone  —  ? " 

"  Hush,  Bill !  Don't  you  know  my  voice  ?  Let  me 
help  you  up.  There  you  are.  I'm  Philip  Winwood  !  " 

"  Why,  so  y'are,  boy !  Excuse  the  way  I  spoke. 
But  what  on  airth  —  ?  " 

"  No  matter  what  I'm  doing  here.  The  thing  is  to 
get  back  to  camp.  Come !  Is  the  wharf  a  safe  place 
for  me  ? " 

"Yes,  at  this  hour  of  a  dark  night.  But  I'd  like  to 
know  —  " 

"  Keep    with    me,    then,"   whispered    Philip,    and 


WINWOOD   DECLINES  A  PROMOTION:         2$$ 

made  for  the  wharf,  holding  the  old  watchman's  arm. 
"  Show  me  where  there's  a  small  boat.  I  must  row 
to  the  Jersey  side  at  once,  and  then  ride  —  by  heaven, 
I  wish  I  might  get  a  horse,  over  there,  without  going 
as  far  as  Dan  Ellis's  !  I  left  mine  with  him." 

"  Mebbe  I  can  get  you  a  hoss,  yonder,"  said 
Meadows.  "  An'  I  reckon  I  can  row  you  round  an' 
acrost,  'thout  their  plaguey  ships  a-spyin'  us." 

"  Then,  by  the  Lord,"  said  Philip,  while  Meadows 
began  letting  himself  down  the  side  of  the  wharf  to 
the  skiff  which  he  knew  rode  there  upon  the  black 
water,  "  'tis  enough  to  make  one  believe  in  miracles, 
my  running  into  you !  What  were  you  doing  out  so 
late  ?  " 

"  Mum,  sir !  I  was  jest  back  from  the  same  camp 
you're  bound  fur.  Tain't  five  minutes  since  I  crawled 
up  out  o'  this  yer  skift." 

"  What !  And  did  you  meet  a  party  going  the 
other  way  —  toward  our  camp,  I  mean  ?  " 

"Ay,"  replied  Meadows,  standing  up  in  the  boat 
and  guiding  the  legs  of  Philip  as  the  latter  descended 
from  the  wharf.  "  I  watched  'em  from  the  patch  o' 
woods  beyont  Westervelt's.  I  took  'em  to  be  Major 
Lee's  men,  or  mebbe  yours,  from  their  caps  and 
plumes  ;  but  I  dunno  :  I  couldn't  see  well.  But  if 
they  was  goin'  to  the  Morristown  camp,  they  was 
goin'  by  a  roundabout  way,  fur  they  took  the  road  to 
the  right,  at  the  fork  t'other  side  o'  them  woods  !  " 


256  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

"  Good,  if  'twas  a  British  troop  indeed  !  If  I  take 
the  short  road,  I  may  beat  'em.  Caps  and  plumes 
like  ours,  eh  !  Here,  I'll  pull  an  oar,  too  ;  and  for 
God's  sake  keep  clear  of  the  British  ships." 

"Trust  me,  cap'n.  I  guess  they  ain't  shifted 
none  since  I  come  acrost  awhile  ago.  I'll  land  yuh 
nearest  where  we  can  get  the  hoss  I  spoke  of.  'Tis 
the  beast  'ut  brung  me  from  the  camp  —  but  mum 
about  that."  The  two  men  moved  at  the  oars,  and 
the  boat  shot  out  from  the  sluggish  dock-water  to 
the  live  current,  down  which  it  headed.  "  Don't  you 
consarn  yerse'f  about  them  ships  —  'tis  the  dark  o' 
the  moon  an'  a  cloudy  night,  an'  as  fur  our  course,  I 
could  smdl  it  out,  if  it  come  to  that !  " 

They  rounded  the  end  of  the  town,  and  turned 
into  the  Hudson,  gliding  black  over  the  surface  of 
blackness.  They  pulled  for  some  distance  against 
the  stream,  so  as  to  land  far  enough  above  our  post 
at  Paulus  Hook.  Going  ashore  in  a  little  cove  appar 
ently  well-known  to  Meadows,  they  drew  up  the  boat, 
and  hastened  inland.  Meadows  had  led  the  way  about 
half  a  mile,  when  a  dark  mass  composed  of  farmhouse 
and  outbuildings  loomed  up  before  them. 

"  Here's  where  the  hoss  is  ;  Pete  Westervelt  takes 
keer  of  him,"  whispered  the  watchman,  and  strode, 
not  to  the  stables,  but  to  the  door  of  what  appeared 
to  be  an  outer  kitchen,  which  he  opened  with  a  key 
of  his  own.  A  friendly  whinny  greeted  him  from 


WINWOOD  DECLINES  A    PROMOTION. 

the  narrow  dark  space  into  which  he  disappeared. 
He  soon  came  out,  leading  the  horse  he  used  in  his 
journeys  to  and  from  the  American  camp,  and  bear 
ing  saddle  and  bridle  on  his  arm.  The  two  men 
speedily  adjusted  these,  whereupon  Philip  mounted. 

"Bring  or  send  the  beast  back  by  night,"  said 
Meadows,  handing  over  the  key,  with  which  he  had 
meanwhile  relocked  the  door  of  his  improvised  stable. 
"  Hoss-flesh  is  damn'  skeerce  these  times."  This  was 
the  truth,  the  needs  of  the  armies  having  raised  the 
price  of  a  horse  to  a  fabulous  sum. 

Philip  promised  to  return  the  horse  or  its  equiva 
lent  ;  gave  a  swift  acknowledgment  of  thanks,  and  a 
curt  good-night ;  and  made  -off,  leaving  old  Meadows 
to  foot  it,  and  row  it,  once  more  back  to  New 
York. 

'Twas  now,  till  he  should  reach  the  camp,  but  a 
matter  of  steady  galloping,  with  ears  alert  for  the 
sound  of  other  hoof-beats,  eyes  watchful  at  cross 
roads  and  open  stretches  for  the  party  he  hoped  to 
forestall.  While  he  had  had  ways  and  means  to  think 
of,  and  had  been  in  peril  of  detection  by  the  British, 
or  in  doubt  of  obtaining  a  horse  without  a  long  trudge 
to  Ellis' s  hut,  his  mind  had  been  diverted  from  the 
unhappy  interview  with  Margaret.  But  now  that 
swept  back  into  his  thoughts,  inundating  his  soul 
with  grief  and  shame,  of  the  utmost  degree  of  bitter 
ness.  These  were  the  more  complete  from  the  recol- 


258  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

lection  of  the  joyous  anticipations  with  which  he  had 
gone  to  meet  her. 

Contemplation  of  this  contrast,  sense  of  his  deser 
tion,  overcame  his  habitual  resistance  to  self-pity,  a 
feeling  against  which  he  was  usually  on  the  stronger 
guard  for  his  knowledge  that  it  was  a  concomitant  of 
his  inherent  sensibility.  He  quite  yielded  to  it  for 
a  time ;  and  though  'twas  sharpened  by  his  compari 
son  of  the  Margaret  he  had  just  left,  with  the  pretty, 
soft-smiling  Madge  of  other  days,  that  comparison 
eventually  supplanted  self-pity  with  pity  for  her,  a 
feeling  no  less  laden  with  sorrow. 

He  dared  not  think  of  what  her  perverseness 
might  yet  lead  her  to.  For  himself  he  saw  nothing 
but  hopeless  sorrow,  unless  she  could  be  brought 
back  to  her  better  self.  But,  alas,  he  by  whose 
influence  that  end  might  be  achieved  —  for  he  could 
not  believe  that  her  heart  had  quite  cast  him  out  — 
was  flying  from  her,  and  years  might  pass  ere  he 
should  see  her  again  :  meanwhile,  how  intolerable 
would  life  be  to  him  !  His  heart,  with  the  instinct  of 
self-protection,  sought  some  interest  in  which  it  might 
find  relief. 

He  thought  of  the  cause  for  which  he  was  fight 
ing.  That  must  suffice  ;  it  must  take  the  place  of 
wife  and  love.  Cold,  impersonal,  inadequate  as  it 
seemed  now,  he  knew  that  in  the  end  it  would  suffice 
to  fill  great  part  of  that  inner  heart  which  she  had 


WINWOOD   DECLINES  A    PROMOTION.        259 

occupied.  He  turned  to  it  with  the  kindling  affec 
tion  which  a  man  ever  has  for  the  resource  that  is 
left  him  when  he  is  scorned  elsewhere.  And  he  felt 
his  ardour  for  it  fanned  by  his  deepened  hate  for  the 
opposing  cause,  a  hate  intensified  by  the  circum 
stance  that  his  rival  was  of  that  cause.  For  that 
rival's  sake,  he  hated  with  a  fresh  implacability  the 
whole  royal  side  and  everything  pertaining  to  it.  He 
pressed  his  teeth  together,  and  resolved  to  make  that 
side  pay  as  dearly  as  lay  in  him  to  make  it,  for  what 
he  had  lost  of  his  wife's  love,  and  for  what  she  had 
lost  of  her  probity. 

And  the  man  himself,  Falconer !  'Twas  he  that 
commanded  this  night's  wild  attempt,  if  she  had 
spoken  truly.  Well,  Falconer  should  not  succeed 
this  night,  and  Philip,  with  a  kind  of  bitter  elation, 
thanked  God  'twas  through  him  that  the  attempt 
should  be  the  more  utterly  defeated.  He  patted 
his  horse  —  a  faithful  beast  that  had  known  but  a 
short  rest  since  it  had  travelled  over  the  same  road 
in  the  opposite  direction  —  and  used  all  means  to 
keep  it  at  the  best  pace  compatible  with  its  endur 
ance.  Forward  it  sped,  in  long,  unvarying  bounds, 
seeing  the  road  in  the  dark,  or  rather  in  the  strange 
dusky  light  yielded  by  the  snow-covered  earth  and 
seeming  rather  to  originate  there  than  to  be  reflected 
from  the  impenetrable  obscurity  overhead. 

From  the  attempt  which  he  was  bent  upon  turning 


260  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

into  a  ridiculous  abortion,  if  it  lay  in  the  power  of 
man  and  horse  to  do  so,  Philip's  thoughts  went  to 
the  object  of  that  attempt,  Washington  himself.  He 
was  thrilled  at  once  with  a  greater  love  and  admira 
tion  for  that  firm  soul  maintaining  always  its  serenity 
against  the  onslaughts  of  men  and  circumstance, 
that  soul  so  unshakable  as  to  seem  in  the  care  of 
Fate  itself.  Capture  Washington  !  Philip  laughed 
at  the  thought. 

And  yet  a  British  troop  had  seized  General  Charles 
Lee  when  he  was  the  rebels'  second  in  command, 
and,  in  turn,  a  party  of  Yankees  had  taken  the  Brit 
ish  General  Prescott  from  his  quarters  in  Rhode 
Island.  True,  neither  of  these  officers  was  at  the 
time  of  his  seizure  as  safely  quartered  and  well 
guarded  as  Washington  was  now ;  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  Margaret  had  spoken  of  treachery  in  the 
American  camp.  Who  were  the  traitors  ?  Philip 
hoped  he  might  find  out  their  chief,  at  least. 

It  was  a  long  and  hard  ride,  and  more  and  more 
an  up-hill  one  as  it  neared  its  end.  But  Philip's 
thoughts  made  him  so  often  unconscious  of  his 
progress,  and  of  the  passage  of  the  hours,  that  he 
finally  realised  with  a  momentary  surprise  that  he 
had  reached  a  fork  of  the  road,  near  which  he  should 
come  upon  the  rebel  pickets,  and  that  the  night  was 
far  spent.  He  might  now  take  one  road,  and  enter 
the  camp  at  its  nearest  point,  but  at  a  point  far  from 


WINWOOD   DECLINES  A    PROMOTION.         261 

Washington's  headquarters ;  or  he  might  take  the 
other  road  and  travel  around  part  of  the  camp,  so 
as  to  enter  it  at  a  place  near  the  general's  house. 
'Twas  at  or  near  the  latter  place  that  the  enemy 
would  try  to  enter,  as  they  would  surely  be  so 
directed  by  the  traitors  within  the  camp. 

Heedless  of  the  apparent  advantage  of  alarming 
the  camp  at  the  earliest  possible  moment,  at  what 
ever  part  of  it  he  could  then  reach,  he  felt  himself 
impelled  to  choose  the  second  road.  He  ever  after 
ward  held  that  his  choice  of  this  seemingly  less 
preferable  road  was  the  result  of  a  swift  process  of 
unconscious  reasoning  —  for  he  maintained  that  what 
we  call  intuition  is  but  an  instantaneous  perception 
of  facts  and  of  their  inevitable  inferences,  too  rapid 
for  the  reflective  part  of  the  mind  to  record. 

He  felt  the  pressure  of  time  relaxed,  for  a  troop 
of  horse  going  by  the  circuitous  route  Meadows  had 
indicated  could  not  have  reached  the  camp  in  the 
hours  since  they  had  passed  the  place  where  Mead 
ows  had  seen  them.  So  he  let  his  horse  breathe 
wherever  the  road  was  broken  by  ascents.  At  last 
he  drew  up,  for  a  moment,  upon  an  eminence  which 
gave,  by  daylight,  a  wide  view  of  country.  Much  of 
this  expanse  being  clear  of  timber,  and  clad  in  snow, 
it  yielded  something  to  a  night-accustomed  eye,  de 
spite  the  darkness.  A  low,  far-off,  steady,  snow- 
muffled  beating,  which  had  imperceptibly  begun 


262  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

to  play  on  Winwood's  ear,  indicated  a  particular 
direction  for  his  gaze.  Straining  his  senses,  he 
looked. 

Against  the  dusky-white  background  of  snow,  he 
could  make  out  an  indistinct,  irregular,  undulating 
line  of  moving  dark  objects.  He  recognised  this 
appearance  as  the  night  aspect  of  a  distant  band 
of  horsemen.  They  were  travelling  in  a  line  parallel 
to  his  own.  Presently,  he  knew,  they  would  turn 
toward  him,  and  change  their  linear  appearance  to 
that  of  a  compact  mass.  But  he  waited  not  for  that. 
He  gently  bade  his  horse  go  on,  and  presently  he 
turned  straight  for  the  camp,  having  a  good  lead  of 
the  horsemen. 

He  was  passing  a  little  copse  at  his  right  hand, 
when  suddenly  a  dark  figure  stepped  from  behind  a 
tree  into  the  road  before  him.  Thinking  this  was 
a  soldier  on  picket  duty,  he  recollected  the  word  of 
the  night,  and  reined  in  to  give  it  upon  demand. 
But  the  man,  having  viewed  him  as  well  as  the  dark 
ness  allowed,  seemed  to  realise  having  made  a  mis 
take,  and,  as  suddenly  as  he  had  appeared,  stalked 
back  into  the  wood. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  thought  Philip;  and 
then  he  remembered  what  Margaret  had  said  of 
treachery.  Was  this  mysterious  night-walker  a  trai 
tor  posted  there  to  aid  the  British  to  their  object  ? 

"  Stop  or  I'll  shoot  you  down  !  "  cried  Philip,  re- 


WINWOOD   DECLINES  A    PROMOTION.         263 

membering  too  late  that  he  had  parted  with  both  his 
pistols  at  the  Bowery  lane  guard-house. 

But  the  noise  of  the  man's  retreat  through  the 
undergrowth  told  that  he  was  willing  to  risk  a 
shot. 

Philip  knew  the  importance  of  obtaining  a  clue  to 
the  traitors.  The  rebels  had  suffered  considerably 
from  treachery  on  their  own  side ;  had  been  in  much 
danger  from  the  treason  of  Doctor  Church  at  Boston  ; 
had  owed  the  speedier  loss  of  their  Fort  Washington 
to  that  of  Dumont ;  and  (many  of  them  held)  the 
retreat  which  Washington  checked  at  Monmouth,  to 
the  design  of  their  General  Charles  Lee.  So  the 
capture  of  this  man,  apart  from  its  possible  effect 
upon  the  present  business,  might  lead  to  the  unearth 
ing  of  a  nest  of  traitors  likely  at  some  future  time, 
if  not  to-night,  to  menace  the  rebel  cause. 

Philip  leaped  from  his  horse,  and,  trusting  to  the 
animal's  manifest  habit  of  awaiting  orders,  stopped 
not  to  tie  it,  but  plunged  directly  into  the  wood, 
drawing  his  sword  as  he  went. 

The  sound  of  the  man's  flight  had  ceased,  but 
Philip  continued  in  the  direction  it  had  first  taken. 
He  was  about  to  cross  a  row  of  low  bushes,  when  he 
unexpectedly  felt  his  ankle  caught  by  a  hand,  and 
himself  thrown  forward  on  his  face.  The  man  had 
crouched  amongst  the  bushes  and  tripped  him  up  as 
he  made  to  pass. 


264  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

The  next  moment,  the  man  was  on  Philip's  back, 
fumbling  to  grasp  his  neck,  and  muttering  : 

"  Tell  me  who  you  are,  quick !  Who  are  you  from  ? 
You  don't  wear  the  dragoon  cap,  I  see.  Now  speak 
the  truth,  or  by  God  I'll  shoot  your  head  off !  " 

Philip  knew,  at  the  first  word,  the  voice  of  Ned 
Faringfield.  It  took  him  not  an  instant  to  perceive 
who  was  a  chief  —  if  not  the  chief  —  traitor  in  the 
affair,  or  to  solve  what  had  long  been  to  him  also 
a  problem,  that  of  Ned's  presence  in  the  rebel  army. 
The  recognition  of  voice  had  evidently  not  been 
mutual ;  doubtless  this  was  because  Philip's  few  words 
had  been  spoken  huskily.  Retaining  his  hoarseness, 
and  taking  his  cue  from  Ned's  allusion  to  the  dragoon 
cap,  he  replied  : 

"  'Tis  all  right.  You're  our  man,  I  see.  Though 
I  don't  wear  the  dragoon  cap,  I  come  from  New 
York  about  Captain  Falconer's  business." 

"Then  why  the  hell  didn't  you  give  the  word?" 
said  Ned,  releasing  his  pressure  upon  Philip's  body. 

"  You  didn't  ask  for  it.  Get  up  —  you're  breaking 
my  back." 

Ned  arose,  relieving  Philip  of  all  weight,  but  stood 
over  him  with  a  pistol. 

"Then  give  it  now,"  Ned  commanded. 

"  I'll  be  hanged  if  you  haven't  knocked  it  clean 
out  of  my  head,"  replied  Philip.  "  Let  me  think  a 
moment  —  I  have  the  cursedest  memory." 


WINWOOD  DECLINES  A   PROMOTION.         26$ 

He  rose  with  a  slowness,  and  an  appearance  of 
weakness,  both  mainly  assumed.  He  still  held  his 
sword,  which,  happily  for  him,  had  turned  flat  under 
him  as  he  fell.  When  he  was  quite  erect,  he  sud 
denly  flung  up  the  sword  so  as  to  knock  the  pistol 
out  of  aim,  dashed  forward  with  all  his  weight, 
and,  catching  Ned  by  the  throat  with  both  hands, 
bore  him  down  upon  his  side  among  the  briars,  and 
planted  a  knee  upon  his  neck.  Instantly  shortening 
his  sword,  he  held  the  point  close  above  Ned's  eye. 

"Now,"  said  Phil,  "let  that  pistol  fall!  Let  it 
fall,  I  say,  or  I'll  run  my  sword  into  your  brain. 
That's  well.  You  traitor,  shall  I  kill  you  now  ? 
or  take  you  into  camp  and  let  you  hang  for  your 
treason  ? " 

Ned  wriggled,  but  finding  that  Philip  held  him  in 
too  resolved  a  grasp,  gave  up. 

"  Is  it  you,  brother  Phil  ? "  he  gasped.  "  Why, 
then,  you  lied  ;  you  said  you  came  from  New  York, 
about  Falconer's  business.  I'd  never  have  thought 
you ' d  stoop  to  a  mean  deception  !  " 

"  I  think  I'd  better  take  you  to  hang,"  continued 
Philip.  "  If  I  kill  you  now,  we  sha'n't  get  the  names 
of  the  other  traitors." 

"You  wouldn't  do  such  an  unbrotherly  act,  Phil! 
I  know  you  wouldn't.  You've  too  good  a  heart. 
Think  of  your  wife,  my  sister  —  " 

"  Ay,  the  traitress  !  " 


266  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

"  Then  think  of  my  father ;  think  of  the  mouth 
that  fed  you  —  I  mean  the  hand  that  fed  you  !  You'll 
let  me  go,  Phil  —  sure  you'll  let  me  go.  Remember 
how  we  played  together  when  we  were  boys.  I'll 
give  you  the  names  of  the  other  traitors.  I'm  not 
so  much  to  blame :  I  was  lured  into  this  —  lured  by 
your  wife  —  so  help  me  God,  I  was  —  and  you're 
responsible  for  her,  you  know.  You  ought  to  be  the 
last  man  in  the  world  —  " 

Philip's  mood  had  changed  at  thought  of  Ned's 
father ;  the  old  man's  pride  of  the  name,  his  secret 
and  perilous  devotion  to  the  rebel  cause  :  he  deserved 
better  of  that  cause  than  that  his  son  should  die 
branded  as  a  traitor  to  it ;  and  better  of  Phil  than 
that  by  his  hand  that  son  should  be  slain. 

"  How  can  you  let  me  have  the  names  without  loss 
of  time,  if  I  let  you  go,  on  condition  of  your  giving 
our  army  a  wide  berth  the  rest  of  your  days  ?  " 
Philip  asked,  turning  the  captive  over  upon  his 
back. 

"  I  can  do  it  in  a  minute,  I  swear,"  cried  Ned. 
"  Will  you  let  me  go  if  I  do  ? " 

"  If  I'm  convinced  they're  the  right  names  and 
all  the  names  ;  but  if  so,  and  I  let  you  go,  remember 
I'll  see  you  hanged  if  you  ever  show  your  face  in  our 
army  again." 

"  Rest  easy  on  that.  I  take  you  at  your  word. 
The  names  are  all  writ  down  in  my  pocketbook,  with 


WINWOOD   DECLINES  A    PROMOTION.         267 

the  share  of  money  each  man  was  to  get.  If  I  was 
caught,  I  was  bound  the  rest  should  suffer,  too.  The 
book  is  in  my  waistcoat  lining  —  there ;  do  you  feel 
it  ?  Rip  it  out." 

Philip  did  so,  and,  sitting  on  Ned's  chest,  with  a 
heel  ready  to  beat  in  his  skull  at  a  treacherous  move 
ment,  contrived  to  strike  a  light  and  verify  by  the 
brief  flame  of  the  tow  the  existence  of  a  list  of  names. 
As  time  was  now  of  ever-increasing  value,  Philip  took 
it  for  granted  that  the  list  was  really  what  Ned  de 
clared  it.  He  then  possessed  himself  of  Ned's  pistol, 
and  rose,  intending  to  conduct  him  as  far  as  to  the 
edge  of  the  camp,  and  to  release  him  only  when 
Philip  should  have  given  the  alarm,  so  that  Ned  could 
not  aid  the  approach  of  Falconer's  party.  But  Philip 
had  no  sooner  communicated  this  intention  than  Ned 
suddenly  whipped  out  a  second  pistol  from  his  coat 
pocket,  in  which  his  hand  had  been  busy  for  some 
time,  and  aimed  at  him.  Thanks  to  a  spoiled  prim 
ing,  the  hammer  fell  without  effect. 

"  You  double  traitor  !  "  cried  Philip,  rushing  upon 
Ned  with  threatening  sword.  But  Ned,  with  a  curse, 
bent  aside,  and,  before  Philip  could  bring  either  of 
his  weapons  into  use,  grappled  with  him  for  another 
fall.  The  two  men  swayed  together  an  instant ;  then 
Philip  once  more  shortened  his  sword  and  plunged 
the  point  into  Ned's  shoulder  as  both  came  down 
together. 


268  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

"  God  damn  your  soul !  "  cried  Ned,  and  for  the 
time  of  a  breath  hugged  his  enemy  the  tighter.  But 
for  the  time  of  a  breath  only  ;  the  hold  then  relaxed  ; 
and  Philip,  rising  easily  from  the  embrace  of  the  limp 
form,  ran  unimpeded  to  the  road,  mounted  the  wait 
ing  horse,  and  galloped  to  the  rebel  lines. 

When  our  party,  all  the  fatigue  of  the  ride  forgotten 
in  a  thrill  of  expectation,  reached  the  spot  where  Ned 
Faringfield  was  to  join  us,  our  leader's  low  utterance 
of  the  signal,  and  our  eager  peerings  into  the  wood, 
met  no  response.  As  we  stood  huddled  together, 
there  broke  upon  us  from  the  front  such  a  musketry, 
and  there  forthwith  appeared  in  the  open  country  at 
our  left  such  a  multitude  of  mounted  figures,  that  we 
guessed  ourselves  betrayed,  and  foresaw  ourselves 
surrounded  by  a  vastly  superior  force  if  we  stayed 
for  a  demonstration. 

"  'Tis  all  up,  gentlemen !  "  cried  Captain  Falconer, 
in  a  tone  of  resignation,  and  without  even  an  oath ; 
whereupon  we  wheeled  in  disappointment  and  made 
back  upon  our  tracks  ;  being  pursued  for  some  miles, 
but  finally  abandoned,  by  the  cavalry  we  had  seen, 
which,  as  we  did  not  learn  till  long  afterward,  was 
led  by  Winwood.  We  left  some  dead  and  wounded 
near  the  place  where  we  had  been  taken  by  surprise ; 
and  some  whose  horses  had  been  hurt  were  made 
prisoners. 


WINWOOD   DECLINES  A    PROMOTION.        269 

For  his  conduct  in  all  this  business,  an  offer  was 
made  to  Philip  of  promotion  to  a  majority ;  but  he 
firmly  declined  it,  saying  that  he  owed  the  news  of 
our  expedition  to  such  circumstances  that  he  chose 
not,  in  his  own  person,  to  profit  bv  it.6 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

The  Bad  Shilling   Turns  up  Once  More  in   Queen 
Street. 

"  THIS  will  be  sad  news  to  Mrs.  Winwood,  gentle 
men,"  said  Captain  Falconer  to  Tom  and  me,  as  we 
rode  toward  the  place  where  .we  should  take  the 
boats  for  New  York.  The  day  was  well  forward, 
but  its  gray  sunless  light  held  little  cheer  for  such  a 
silent,  dejected  crew  as  we  were. 

The  captain  was  too  much  the  self-controlled  gen 
tleman  to  show  great  disappointment  on  his  own 
account,  though  he  had  probably  set  store  upon  this 
venture,  as  an  opportunity  that  he  lacked  in  his 
regular  duties  on  General  Clinton's  staff,  where  he 
served  pending  the  delayed  enlistment  of  the  loyalist 
cavalry  troop  he  had  been  sent  over  to  command. 
But  though  he  might  hide  his  own  regrets,  now  that 
we  were  nearing  Margaret,  it  was  proper  to  consider 
our  failure  with  reference  to  her. 

"Doubtless,"  he  went  on,  "there  was  treachery 
against  us  somewhere ;  for  we  cannot  suppose  such 
vigilance  and  preparation  to  be  usual  with  the  rebels. 

270 


THE  BAD  S PULLING    TURNS   UP.  2/1 

But  we  must  not  hint  as  much  to  her.  The  leak 
may  have  been,  you  see,  through  one  of  the  instru 
ments  of  her  choosing  —  the  man  Meadows,  perhaps, 
or  -  '  (He  stopped  short  of  mentioning  Ned  Far- 
ingfield,  whose  trustworthiness  on  either  side  he  was 
warranted,  by  much  that  he  had  heard,  in  doubting.) 
"  In  any  case,"  he  resumed,  "  'twould  be  indelicate 
to  imply  that  her  judgment  of  men,  her  confidence 
in  any  one,  could  have  been  mistaken.  We'd  best 
merely  tell  her,  then,  that  the  rebels  were  on  the 
alert,  and  fell  upon  us  before  we  could  meet  her 
brother." 

We  thought  to  find  her  with  face  all  alive,  ex 
pectant  of  the  best  news,  or  at  least  in  a  fever  of 
impatience,  and  that  therefore  'twould  be  the  more 
painful  to  tell  her  the  truth.  But  when  the  captain's 
servant  let  the  three  of  us  in  at  the  front  door  (Tom 
and  I  had  waited  while  Falconer  briefly  reported  our 
fiasco  to  General  Clinton)  and  we  found  her  waiting 
for  us  upon  the  stairs,  her  face  was  pale  with  a  set 
and  tragic  wofulness,  as  if  tidings  of  our  failure  had 
preceded  us.  There  was,  perhaps,  an  instant's  last 
flutter  of  hope  against  hope,  a  momentary  remnant 
of  inquiry,  in  her  eyes  ;  but  this  yielded  to  despairing 
certainty  at  her  first  clear  sight  of  our  crestfallen 
faces. 

"  'Twas  all  for  nothing,  then  ? "  she  said,  with  a 
quiet  weariness  which  showed  that  her  battle  with 


2/2  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

disappointment  had  been  fought  and  had  "left  her 
tired  out  if  not  resigned. 

"Yes,"  said  the  captain,  apparently  relieved  to 
discover  that  no  storm  of  disappointment  or  reproach 
was  to  be  undergone.  "They  are  too  watchful. 
We  hadn't  yet  come  upon  your  brother,  when  a 
heavy  fire  broke  out  upon  us.  We  were  lucky  to 
escape  before  they  could  surround  us.  Nine  of  our 
men  are  missing." 

She  gave  a  shudder,  then  came  to  us,  kissed  Tom 
with  more  than  ordinary  tenderness,  grasped  my 
hand  affectionately,  and  finally  held  the  captain's 
in  a  light,  momentary  clasp. 

"You  did  your  best,  I'm  sure,"  she  said,  in  a  low 
voice,  at  the  same  time  flashing  her  eyes  furtively 
from  one  to  another  as  if  to  detect  whether  we  hid 
any  part  of  the  news. 

We  were  relieved  and  charmed  at  this  resigned 
manner  of  receiving  our  bad  tidings,  and  it  gave  me, 
at  least,  a  higher  opinion  of  her  strength  of  char 
acter.  This  was  partly  merited,  I  make  no  doubt ; 
though  I  did  not  know  then  that  she  had  reason  to 
reproach  herself  for  our  failure. 

"And  that's  all  you  have  to  tell?"  she  queried. 
"  You  didn't  discover  what  made  them  so  ready  for 
a  surprise  ? " 

"  No,"  replied  the  captain,  casually.  "  Could  there 
have  been  any  particular  reason,  think  you  ?  To  my 


THE   SAD   SHILLING    TURNS   UP.  2?$ 

mind,  they  have  had  lessons  enough  to  make  them 
watchful." 

She  looked  relieved.  I  suppose  she  was  glad  we 
should  not  know  of  her  interview  with  Philip,  and 
of  the  imprudent  taunts  by  which  she  herself  had 
betrayed  the  great  design. 

"Well,"  said  she.  "They  may  not  be  so  watchful 
another  time.  We  may  try  again.  Let  us  wait  until 
I  hear  from  Ned." 

But  when  she  stole  an  interview  with  Bill  Mead 
ows,  that  worthy  had  no  communication  from  Ned ; 
instead  thereof,  he  had  news  that  Captain  Faringfield 
had  disappeared  from  the  rebel  camp,  and  was  sup 
posed  by  some  to  have  deserted  to  the  British. 
Something  that  Meadows  knew  not  at  the  time,  nor 
I  till  long  after,  was  of  the  treasonable  plot  unearthed 
in  the  rebel  army,  and  that  two  or  three  of  the  par 
ticipants  had  been  punished  for  the  sake  of  example, 
and  the  less  guilty  ones  drummed  out  of  the  camp. 
This  was  the  result  of  Philip's  presentation  to  Gen 
eral  Washington  of  the  list  of  names  obtained  from 
Ned,  some  of  the  men  named  therein  having  con 
fessed  upon  interrogation.  Philip's  account  of  the 
affair  made  it  appear  to  Washington  that  his  dis 
covery  was  due  to  his  accidental  meeting  with  Ned 
Faringfield,  and  that  Faringfield's  escape  was  but 
the  unavoidable  outcome  of  the  hand-to-hand  fight 
between  the  two  men  —  for  Philip  had  meanwhile 


2/4  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

ascertained,  by  a  personal  search,  that  Ned  had  not 
been  too  severely  hurt  to  make  good  his  flight. 

Well,  there  passed  a  Christmas,  and  a  New  Year, 
in  which  the  Faringfield  house  saw  some  revival  of 
the  spirit  of  gladness  that  had  formerly  prevailed 
within  its  comfortable  walls  at  that  season.  Mr. 
Faringfield,  who  had  grown  more  gray  and  taciturn 
each  year,  mellowed  into  some  resemblance  to  his 
former  benevolent,  though  stately,  self.  He  had  not 
yet  heard  of  Ned's  treason.  His  lady,  still  graceful 
and  slender,  resumed  her  youth.  Fanny,  who  had 
ever  forced  herself  to  the  diffusion  of  merriment 
when  there  was  cheerlessness  to  be  dispelled,  reflected 
with  happy  eyes  the  old-time  jocundity  now  reawak 
ened.  My  mother,  always  a  cheerful,  self-reliant, 
outspoken  soul,  imparted  the  cordiality  of  her  pres 
ence  to  the  household,  and  both  Tom  and  I  rejoiced 
to  find  the  old  state  of  things  in  part  returned. 
Margaret,  perhaps  for  relief  from  her  private  dejec 
tion,  took  part  in  the  household  festivities  with  a 
smiling  animation  that  she  had  not  vouchsafed  them 
in  years ;  and  Captain  Falconer  added  to  their  gaiety 
by  his  charming  wit,  good-nature,  and  readiness  to 
please.  Yet  he,  I  made  no  doubt,  bore  within  him 
a  weight  of  dashed  hopes,  and  could  often  have 
cursed  when  he  laughed. 

The  happy  season  went,  leaving  a  sweeter  air  in 
the  dear  old  house  than  had  filled  it  for  a  long  time. 


THE   BAD   SHILLING    TURNS   UP.  2/5 

All  that  was  missing,  it  seemed  to  us  who  knew  not 
yet  as  much  as  Margaret  knew,  was  the  presence  of 
Philip.  Well,  the  war  must  end  some  day,  and  then 
what  a  happy  reunion !  By  that  time,  if  Heaven 
were  kind,  I  thought,  the  charm  of  Captain  Falconer 
would  have  lost  power  over  Margaret's  inclinations, 
and  all  would  be  well  that  ended  well. 

One  night  in  January,  we  had  sat  very  late  at  cards 
in  the  Faringfield  parlour,  and  my  mother  had  just 
cried  out,  "  Dear  bless  me,  look  at  the  clock !  "  — 
when  there  sounded  a  dull,  heavy  pounding  upon  the 
rear  hall  door.  There  were  eight  of  us,  at  the  two 
card-tables  :  Mr.  Faringfield  and  his  lady,  my  mother, 
Margaret  and  Fanny,  Mr.  Cornelius,  Tom,  and  my 
self.  And  every  one  of  us,  looking  from  face  to 
face,  showed  the  same  thought,  the  same  recognition 
of  that  half -cowardly,  half-defiant  thump,  though  for 
so  long  we  had  not  heard  it.  How  it  knocked  away 
the  years,  and  brought  younger  days  rushing  back 
upon  us ! 

Mr.  Faringfield' s  face  showed  a  sweep  of  conjec 
tures,  ranging  from  that  of  Ned's  being  in  New  York 
in  service  of  his  cause,  to  that  of  his  being  there  as 
a  deserter  from  it.  Margaret  flushed  a  moment,  and 
then  composed  herself  with  an  effort,  for  whatever 
issue  this  unexpected  arrival  might  portend.  The 
rest  of  us  waited  in  a  mere  wonder  touched  with  the 
old  disquieting  dread  of  painful  scenes. 


2/6  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

Old  Noah,  jealous  of  the  single  duty  that  his  years 
had  left  him,  and  resentful  of  its  frequent  usurpation 
by  Falconer's  servant,  always  stayed  up  to  attend 
the  door  till  the  last  of  the  family  had  retired.  We 
now  heard  him  shuffling  through  the  hall,  heard  the 
movement  of  the  lock,  and  then  instantly  a  heavy 
tread  that  covered  the  sound  of  Noah's.  The  parlour 
door  from  the  hall  was  flung  open,  and  in  strode  the 
verification  of  our  thoughts. 

Ned's  clothes  were  briar-torn  and  mud-spattered ; 
his  face  was  haggard,  his  hair  unkempt,  his  left 
shoulder  humped  up  and  held  stiff.  He  stopped 
near  the  door,  and  stared  from  face  to  face,  frowning 
because  of  the  sudden  invasion  of  his  eyes  by  the 
bright  candlelight.  When  his  glance  fell  upon  Mar 
garet,  it  rested ;  and  thereupon,  just  as  if  he  were 
not  returned  from  an  absence  of  three  years  and 
more,  and  heedless  of  the  rest  of  us,  confining  his 
address  to  her  alone,  he  bellowed,  with  a  most  malig 
nant  expression  of  face  and  voice  : 

"  So  you  played  a  fine  game  with  us,  my  lady  — 
luring  us  into  the  dirty  scheme,  and  then  turning 
around  and  setting  your  husband  on  us  in  the  act ! 
I  see  through  it  all  now,  you  underhanded,  double- 
dealing  slut ! " 

"  Are  you  speaking  to  me,  sir  ? "  asked  Margaret, 
with  dignity. 

"  Of  course  I  am  ;  and  don't  think  I'll  hold  my 


THE  BAD  SHILLING  TURNS  UP.      277 

tongue  because  of  these  people.  Let  'em  hear  it  all, 
I  don't  care.  It's  all  up  now,  and  I'm  a  hanged  man 
if  ever  I  go  near  the  American  camp  again.  But 
I'm  safe  here  in  New  York,  though  I  was  damn'  near 
being  shot  when  I  first  came  into  the  British  lines. 
But  I've  been  before  General  Knyphausen,7  and  been 
identified,  and  been  acknowledged  by  your  Captain 
Falconer  as  the  man  that  worked  your  cursed  plot  at 
t'other  end;  and  I've  been  let  go  free  —  though  I'm 
under  watch,  no  doubt.  So  you  see  there's  naught 
to  hinder  me  exposing  you  for  what  you  are  —  the 
woman  that  mothered  a  British  plot,  and  worked 
her  trusting  brother  into  it,  and  then  betrayed  him 
to  her  husband." 

"That's  a  lie!"  cried  Margaret,  crimson  in  the 
face. 

"  What  does  all  this  mean  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Faring- 
field,  rising. 

Paying  no  attention  to  his  father,  Edward  retorted 
upon  Margaret,  who  also  rose,  and  who  stood  be 
tween  him  and  the  rest  of  us  : 

"  A  lie,  is  it  ?  Perhaps  you  can  make  General 
Knyphausen  and  Captain  Falconer  believe  that,  now 
I've  told  'em  whose  cursed  husband  it  was  that 
attacked  me  at  the  meeting-place,  and  alarmed  the 
camp.  You  didn't  think  I'd  live  to  tell  the  tale, 
did  you  ?  You  thought  to  hear  of  my  being  hanged, 
and  your  husband  promoted  for  his  services,  and  so 


2/8  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

two  birds  killed  with  one  stone !  But  providence 
had  a  word  to  say  about  that.  The  Lord  is  never 
on  the  side  of  plotters  and  traitors,  let  me  tell  you, 
and  here  I  am  to  outface  you.  A  lie,  is  it  ?  A  lie 
that  your  husband  spoiled  the  scheme  ?  Why,  you 
brazen  hussy,  he  came  from  New  York  that  very 
night  —  he  told  me  so  himself  !  He  had  seen  you, 
and  you  had  told  him  all,  I'll  lay  a  thousand 
guineas !  " 

'Twas  at  the  time  a  puzzle  to  me  that  Margaret 
should  condescend  to  explanations  with  him  as  she 
forthwith  did.  But  I  now  see  how,  realising  that 
proofs  of  Philip's  visit  might  turn  up  and  seem  to 
bear  out  Ned's  accusation,  she  must  have  felt  the 
need  of  putting  herself  instantly  right  with  Tom  and 
me,  lest  she  might  eventually  find  herself  wrong 
with  General  Clinton  and  Captain  Falconer. 

"I  own  that  Philip  saw  me  that  night,"  she  said, 
with  a  self-control  compelled  by  her  perilous  situa 
tion.  "  He  came  here  by  stealth,  and  took  me  by 
surprise.  He  found  reason  to  suspect  our  plot,  but 
till  now  I  never  knew  'twas  really  he  that  put  the 
rebels  on  their  guard.  I  thought  he  would  be  too 
late.  'Twas  through  no  intention  of  mine  that  he 
guessed  what  was  afoot.  I  never  told  Tom  and 
Bert"  (these  words  were  meant  for  our  ears)  " — or 
Captain  Falconer  —  of  his  visit,  for  fear  they  might 
think,  as  you  seem  to,  that  I  was  to  blame.  That's 


THE  BAD  SHILLING    TURNS   UP.  2/9 

all  the  truth,  and  we  shall  see  whether  Captain  Fal 
coner  will  believe  you  or  me." 

Here  Mr.  Faringfield,  whose  patience  at  being  so 
far  ignored,  though  'twas  supported  by  the  hope 
of  receiving  the  desired  enlightenment  from  their 
mutual  speeches,  was  at  length  exhausted,  put  in 
with  some  severity. 

"Pray,  let  us  into  these  mysteries,  one  of  you. 
Margaret,  what  is  it  I  hear,  of  a  visit  from  Philip  ? 
of  a  British  plot  ?  By  heaven,  if  I  thought  —  but 
explain  the  matter,  if  you  please." 

"I  have  no  right  to,"  said  she,  her  face  more  and 
more  suffused  with  red.  "  'Tis  not  my  secret  alone  ; 
others  are  concerned." 

"It  appears,"  rejoined  Mr.  Faringfield,  "it  is  a 
secret  that  abides  in  my  house,  and  therefore  I 
have  a  right  to  its  acquaintance.  I  command  you 
to  explain." 

"  Command  ? "  she  echoed  lightly,  with  astonish 
ment.  "Is  a  married  woman  subject  to  her  father's 
commands  ?  " 

"An  inmate  of  my  house  is  subject  to  my  com 
mands,"  he  replied,  betraying  his  hidden  wrath  by  a 
dark  look. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  she.  "That  part  of 
the  house  which  Philip  has  paid,  or  will  pay,  for  my 
living  in,  is  my  own,  for  the  time  being.  I  shall  go 
there  —  " 


280  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

11  You  shall  not  leave  this  room,"  cried  her  father, 
stalking  toward  the  door.  "  You  fall  back  upon 
Philip's  name.  Very  well,  he  has  delegated  the  care 
of  you  to  me  in  his  absence.  'Tis  time  I  should 
represent  his  authority  over  you,  when  I  hear  of 
your  plotting  against  his  country." 

"  I  have  a  right  to  be  loyal  to  the  king,  above  the 
authority  of  a  husband." 

"  If  your  loyalty  extends  to  plotting  against  your 
husband's  cause,  you  have  not  the  right  under  my 
roof  —  or  under  Philip  Win  wood's  part  of  it.  I  will 
know  what  this  scheme  is,  that  you  have  been 
engaged  in." 

"  Not  from  me  !  "  said  Margaret,  with  a  resolution 
that  gave  a  new,  unfamiliar  aspect  to  so  charmingly 
feminine  a  creature. 

"Oh,  let  her  alone,  father,"  put  in  Ned,  ludi 
crously  ready  for  the  faintest  opportunity  either  to 
put  his  father  under  obligation  or  to  bring  down 
Margaret.  "  I'll  be  frank  with  you.  I've  no  reason 
to  hide  what's  past  and  gone.  She  and  Captain  Fal 
coner  had  a  plan  to  make  Washington  a  prisoner,  by 
a  night  expedition  from  New  York,  and  some  help 
in  our  camp  — 

"Which  you  were  to  give,  I  see,  you  treacherous 
scoundrel !  "  said  his  father,  with  contempt. 

"  Oh,  now,  no  hard  names,  sir.  You  see,  several 
of  us  —  some  good  patriots,  too,  with  the  country's 


THE  BAD   SHILLING    TURNS   UP.  28 1 

best  interests  at  heart  — couldn't  swallow  this  French 
alliance ;  we  saw  that  if  we  ever  did  win  by  it,  we 
should  only  be  exchanging  tyrants  of  our  own  blood 
for  tyrants  of  frog-eaters.  We  began  to  think  Eng 
land  would  take  us  back  on  good  terms  if  the  war 
could  be  ended ;  and  we  considered  the  -state  of  the 
country,  the  interests  of  trade  —  indeed,  'twas  chiefly 
the  thought  of  your  business,  the  hope  of  seeing  it 
what  it  once  was,  that  drove  me  into  the  thing." 

"You  wretched  hypocrite!"  interposed  Mr.  Far- 
ingfield. 

"  Oh,  well ;  misunderstand  me,  as  usual.  Call  me 
names,  if  you  like.  I'm  only  telling  the  truth,  and 
what  you  wished  to  know  —  what  she  wouldn't  tell 
you.  I'm  not  as  bad  as  some ;  I  can  up  and  confess, 
when  all's  over.  Well,  as  I  was  about  to  say,  we 
had  everything  ready,  and  the  night  was  set ;  and 
then,  all  of  a  sudden,  Phil  Winwood  swoops  down 
on  me ;  treats  me  in  a  most  unbrotherly  fashion, 
I  must  say "  (Ned  cast  an  oblique  look  at  his  em 
barrassed  shoulder) ;  "  and  alarmed  the  camp.  And 
when  the  British  party  rode  up,  instead  of  catching 
Washington  they  caught  hell.  And  I  leave  it  to  you, 
sir,  whether  your  daughter  there,  after  playing  the 
traitor  to  her  husband's  cause,  for  the  sake  of  her 
lover ;  didn't  turn  around  and  play  the  traitor  to 
her  own  game,  for  the  benefit  of  her  husband,  and 
the  ruin  of  her  brother.  Such  damnableness  !  " 


282  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

" '  For  the  sake  of  her  lover,'  "  Mr.  Faringfield 
repeated.  "What  do  you  mean  by  that,  sir?" 
The  phrase,  indeed,  had  given  us  all  a  disagreeable 
start. 

"  What  I  say,  sir.  How  could  he  be  otherwise  ? 
I  guessed  it  before ;  and  I  became  sure  of  it  this 
evening,  from  the  way  he  spoke  of  her  at  General 
Knyphausen's  quarters." 

"  What  a  lie  !  "  cried  Margaret.  "  Captain  Falconer 
is  a  gentleman ;  he's  not  of  a  kind  to  talk  about 
women  who  have  given  him  no  reason  to  do  so.  Tis 
ridiculous  !  You  maligning  villain  !  " 

"  Oh,  'twasn't  what  he  said,  my  dear ;  'twas  his 
manner  whenever  he  mentioned  you.  When  a  man 
like  him  handles  a  woman's  name  so  delicate-like,  as 
if  'twas  glass  and  might  break  —  so  grave-like,  as  if 
she  was  a  sacred  subject  —  it  means  she's  put  herself 
on  his  generosity." 

Margaret  affected  a  derisive  laugh,  as  at  her 
brother's  pretensions  to  wisdom. 

"  Oh,  I  know  all  the  stages,"  he  continued,  watch 
ing  her  with  a  malicious  calmness  of  self-confidence. 
"  When  gentry  of  his  sort  are  first  struck  with  a  lady, 
but  not  very  deep,  they  speak  out  their  admiration 
bold  and  gallant ;  when  they  find  they're  hit  seriously, 
but  haven't  made  sure  of  her,  they  speak  of  her  with 
make-believe  carelessness  or  mere  respect  :  they  don't 
like  to  show  how  far  gone  they  are.  But  when  she's 


THE  BAD   SHILLING    TURNS   UP.  283 

come  to  an  understanding  with  'em,  and  put  'em 
under  obligations  and  responsibilities  —  it's  only  then 
they  touch  her  name  so  tender  and  considerate,  as  if 
it  was  so  fragile.  But  that  stage  doesn't  last  for  ever, 
my  young  lady  —  bear  that  in  mind  !  " 

"You  insolent  wretch!"  said  Margaret,  ready  to 
cry  with  rage  and  confusion. 

"  This  is  outrageous,"  ventured  Mrs.  Faringfield, 
daring  to  look  her  indignation  at  Ned.  "  William, 
how  can  you  tolerate  such  things  said  about  your 
daughter  ? " 

But  Mr.  Faringfield  had  been  studying  his  daugh 
ter's  countenance  all  the  while.  Alas  for  Margaret, 
she  had  never  given  pains  to  the  art  of  dissimulation, 
or  taken  the  trouble  to  learn  hypocrisy,  or  even  studied 
self-control  :  a  negligence  common  to  beauties,  who 
rely  upon  their  charms  to  carry  them  through  all 
emergencies  without  resort  to  shifts.  She  was  equal 
to  a  necessary  lie  that  had  not  to  be  maintained  with 
labour,  or  to  a  pretence  requiring  little  effort  and 
encountering  no  suspicion,  but  to  the  concealment  of 
her  feelings  when  she  was  openly  put  to  the  ques 
tion,  her  powers  were  inadequate.  If  ever  a  human 
face  served  its  owner  ill,  by  apparently  confessing 
guilt,  where  only  folly  existed,  Margaret's  did  so 
now. 

"  What  I  may  think  of  the  rascal  who  says  these 
things,"  replied  Mr.  Faringfield,  with  the  unnatural 


284  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

quietness  that  betrays  a  tumult  of  inward  feelings, 
"I  will  tolerate  them  till  I  am  sure  they  are  false." 
His  eyes  were  still  fixed  on  Margaret. 

"  What  !  "  said  she,  a  little  hysterically.  "  Do  you 
pay  attention  to  the  slanders  of  such  a  fellow  ?  To 
an  accusation  like  that,  made  on  the  mere  strength 
of  a  gentleman's  manner  of  mentioning  me  ?  " 

"  No,  but  I  pay  attention  to  your  manner  of  re 
ceiving  the  accusation :  your  telltale  face,  your 
embarrassment  - 

"  'Tis  my  anger  —  " 

"  There's  an  anger  of  innocence,  and  an  anger  of 
guilt.  I  would  your  anger  had  shown  more  of  con 
tempt  than  of  confusion."  Alas  !  he  knew  naught 
of  half-guilt  and  its  manifestations. 

"  How  can  you  talk  so  ?  —  I  won't  listen  —  such 
insulting  innuendoes  !  —  even  if  you  are  my  father  — 
why,  this  knave  himself  says  I  betrayed  Captain 
Falconer's  scheme:  how  could  he  think  that,  if- 

"That  proves  nothing,"  said  Ned,  with  a  contemp 
tuous  grin.  "  Women  do  unaccountable  things.  A 
streak  of  repentance,  maybe ;  or  a  lovers'  quarrel. 
The  point  is,  a  woman  like  you  wouldn't  have  entered 
into  a  scheme  like  that,  with  a  man  like  him,  if  there 
hadn't  already  been  a  pretty  close  understanding  of 
another  kind.  Oh,  I  know  your  whole  damn'  sex, 
begad! — no  offence  to  these  other  ladies." 

"  William,  this  is  scandalous  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Faring- 


THE   BAD  SHILLING    TURNS   UP.  285 

field.  My  mother,  too,  looked  what  it  was  not  her 
place  to  speak.  As  for  Tom  and  me,  we  had  to 
defer  to  Mr.  Faringfield  ;  and  so  had  Cornelius,  who 
was  very  solemn,  with  an  uneasy  frown  between  his 
white  eyebrows.  Poor  Fanny,  most  sensitive  to 
disagreeable  scenes,  sat  in  self-effacement  and  mute 
distress. 

Mr.  Faringfield,  not  replying  to  his  wife,  took  a 
turn  up  and  down  the  room,  apparently  in  great 
mental  perplexity  and  dismay. 

Suddenly  he  was  a  transformed  man.  Pale  with 
wrath,  his  lips  moving  spasmodically,  his  arms  trem 
bling,  he  turned  upon  Margaret,  grasped  her  by 
the  shoulders,  and  in  a  choked,  half-articulate  voice 
demanded  : 

"Tell  the  truth!  Is  it  so  —  this  shame  —  crime? 
Speak  !  I  will  shake  the  truth  from  you  !  " 

"  Father !  Don't !  "  she  screamed,  terrified  by 
his  look ;  and  from  his  searching  gaze,  she  essayed 
to  hide,  by  covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  the 
secret  her  conscience  magnified  so  as  to  forbid  con 
fession  and  denial  alike.  I  am  glad  to  recall  this  act 
of  womanhood,  which  showed  her  inability  to  brazen 
all  accusation  out. 

But  Mr.  Faringfield  saw  no  palliating  circum 
stance  in  this  evidence  of  womanly  feeling.  Seeing 
in  it  only  an  admission  of  guilt,  he  raised  his  arms 
convulsively  for  a  moment  as  if  he  would  strike  her 


286  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

down  with  his  hands,  or  crush  her  throat  with  them. 
But,  overcoming  this  impulse,  he  drew  back  so  as  to 
be  out  of  reach  of  her,  and  said,  in  a  low  voice  shaken 
with  passion : 

"  Go  !        From    my  house,  I   mean  —  my  roof  - 
and  from  Philip's  part  of  it.      God  !  that  a  child  of 
mine  should  plot  against  my  country,  for  England  — 
that  was  enough  ;  but  to  be  false  to  her  husband,  too 
—  false   to   Philip  !       I    will   own   no   such   treason  ! 
I  turn  you  out,  I  cast  you  off !     Not  another  hour 
in  my  house,  not  another  minute  !     You  are  not  my 
daughter,  not  Philip's  wife  !  —  You  are  a  thing  I  will 
not  name  !     We  disown  you.     Go,  I  bid  you  ;  let  me 
never  see  you  again  !  " 

She  had  not  offered  speech  or  motion  ;  and  she 
continued  to  stand  motionless,  regarding  her  father 
in  fear  and  sorrow. 

"  I  tell  you  to  leave  this  house !  "  he  added,  in  a 
slightly  higher  and  quicker  voice.  "  Do  you  wait  for 
me  to  thrust  you  out  ?  " 

She  slowly  moved  toward  the  door.  But  her 
mother  ran  and  caught  her  arm,  and  stood  be 
tween  her  and  Mr.  Faringfield. 

"  William  !  "  said  the  lady.  "  Consider  —  the  poor 
child  —  your  favourite,  she  was — you  mustn't  send 
her  out.  I'm  sure  Philip  wouldn't  have  you  do  this, 
for  all  she  might  seem  guilty  of." 

"  Ay,  the  lad  is  too  kind  of  heart.     So  much  the 


THE   BAD   SHILLING    TURNS   UP.  287 

worse  her  treason  to  him  !  She  shall  go ;  and  you, 
madam,  will  not  interfere.  'Tis  for  me  to  command. 
Be  pleased  to  step  aside  !  " 

His  passion  had  swiftly  frozen  into  an  implacable 
sternness  which  struck  fear  to  the  childish  heart 
of  his  wife,  and  she  obeyed  him  dumbly.  Drop 
ping  weakly  upon  a  chair,  she  added  her  sobs  to 
those  of  Fanny,  which  had  begun  to  break  plain 
tively  upon  the  tragic  silence. 

Margaret  raised  her  glance  from  the  floor,  in  a 
kind  of  wistful  leave-taking,  to  us  who  looked  on 
and  pitied  her. 

"  Indeed,  sir,"  began  Mr.  Cornelius  softly,  rising 
and  taking  a  step  toward  Mr.  Faringfield.  But  the 
latter  cut  his  good  intention  short,  by  a  mandatory 
gesture  and  the  harshly  spoken  words  : 

"  No  protests,  sir  ;  no  intercessions.  I  am  aware 
of  what  I  do." 

"  But  at  midnight,  sir.  Think  of  it.  Where  can 
she  find  shelter  at  this  hour  ?  " 

"  Why,"  put  in  my  mother,  "  in  my  house,  and 
welcome,  if  she  must  leave  this  one." 

"  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Russell,"  said  Margaret,  in  a 
stricken  voice.  "  For  the  time  being,  I  shall  be 
glad  —  " 

"  For  all  time,  if  you  wish,"  replied  my  mother. 
"  And  we  shall  have  your  things  moved  over  to 
morrow." 


288  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

"By  the  Lord,  sis,"  cried  Ned,  with  a  sudden 
friendliness  quite  astonishing  after  the  part  he  had 
taken,  and  to  be  accounted  for  only  by  the  idea  that 
had  struck  him,  "  here's  a  blessing  in  disguise ! 
There's  a  ship  sails  next  Wednesday  —  so  I  found 
out  this  evening  —  and  damn  me  if  you  sha'n't  go  to 
London  with  me !  That's  the  kind  of  a  forgiving 
brother  I  am  !  " 

She  had  utterly  ignored  his  first  words,  but  when 
he  reached  the  point,  she  looked  at  him  thoughtfully, 
with  a  check  upon  her  resentment.  She  made  no 
reply,  however ;  but  he  had  not  missed  her  expres 
sion.  Tom  and  I  exchanged  side  glances,  remem 
bering  Ned's  former  wish  that  he  might  imitate  his 
Irish  friend  by  taking  his  sister  to  London  to  catch  a 
fortune  with.  As  for  Margaret,  as  matters  stood,  it 
would  be  something  to  go  to  London,  relying  on  her 
beauty.  I  fancied  I  saw  that  thought  in  her 
look. 

Mr.  Faringfield,  who  had  heard  with  cold  heedless- 
ness  my  mother's  offer  and  Ned's,  now  rang  the  bell. 
Noah  appeared,  with  a  sad,  affrighted  face  —  he  had 
been  listening  at  the  door  —  and  cast  a  furtive  glance 
at  Margaret,  in  token  of  commiseration. 

"  Bring  Mrs.  Winwood's  cloak,"  said  Mr.  Faring 
field  to  the  old  negro.  "  Then  open  the  door  for  her 
and  Mr.  Edward." 

While  Noah  was  absent  on  this  errand,  and  Mar- 


THE  BAD  SHILLING    TURNS    UP.  289 

garet  waited  passively,  Tom  went  to  her,  kissed  her 
cheek,  and  then  came  away  without  a  word. 

"  You'll  accept  Mrs.  Russell's  invitation,  dear,"  said 
Mrs.  Faringfield,  in  tears,  "  and  we  can  see  you  every 
day." 

"Certainly,  for  the  present,"  replied  Margaret,  who 
did  not  weep,  but  spoke  in  a  singularly  gentle  voice. 

"And  I,  too,  for  to-night,  with  my  best  thanks," 
added  Ned,  who  had  not  been  invited,  but  whom  my 
mother  preferred  not  to  refuse. 

Noah  brought  in  the  cloak,  and  placed  it  around 
Madge  with  an  unusual  attentiveness,  prolonging  the 
slight  service  to  its  utmost  possible  length,  and 
keeping  an  eye  for  any  sign  of  relenting  on  the  part 
of  his  master. 

My  mother  and  I  stood  waiting  for  Margaret,  while 
Mrs.  Faringfield  and  Fanny  weepingly  embraced  her. 
That  done,  and  with  a  good-night  for  Tom  and  Mr. 
Cornelius,  but  not  a  word  or  a  look  for  her  father, 
who  stood  as  silent  and  motionless  as  marble,  she  laid 
her  hand  softly  upon  my  arm,  and  we  went  forth, 
leaving  my  mother  to  the  unwelcome  escort  of  Ned. 
The  door  closed  upon  us  four  —  'twas  the  last  time  it 
ever  closed  upon  one  of  us  —  and  in  a  few  seconds 
we  were  at  our  steps.  And  who  should  come  along 
at  that  moment,  on  his  way  to  his  quarters,  but  Cap 
tain  Falconer  ?  He  stopped,  in  pleased  surprise, 
and,  peering  at  our  faces  in  the  darkness,  asked 


2QO  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

in  his  gay,  good-natured  way  what  fun  was 
afoot. 

"Not  much  fun,"  said  Margaret.  "I  have  just 
left  my  father's  house,  at  his  command." 

He  stood  in  a  kind  of  daze.  As  it  was  very  cold, 
we  bade  him  good  night,  and  went  in.  Reopening 
the  door,  and  looking  out,  I  saw  him  proceeding 
homeward,  his  head  averted  in  a  meditative  attitude. 
I  knew  not  till  the  next  day  what  occurred  when  he 
arrived  in  the  Faringfield  hall. 

"  Sir,"  said  Tom  Faringfield,  stepping  forth  from 
where  he  had  been  leaning  against  the  stair-post,  "  I 
must  speak  low,  because  my  parents  and  sister  are  in 
the  parlour  there,  and  I  don't  wish  them  to  hear  — 

"With  all  my  heart,"  replied  Falconer.  "Won't 
you  come  into  my  room,  and  have  a  glass  of  wine  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.  If  I  had  a  glass  of  wine,  I  should  only 
waste  it  by  throwing  it  in  your  face.  All  I  have  to 
say  is,  that  you  are  a  scoundrel,  and  I  desire  an  op 
portunity  to  kill  you  as  soon  as  may  be  —  " 

"  Tut,  tut,  my  dear  lad  — 

"  I'll  think  of  a  pretext,  and  send  my  friend  to  you 
to-morrow,"  added  Tom,  and,  turning  his  back,  went 
quietly  up-stairs  to  his  room  ;  where,  having  locked 
the  door,  he  fell  face  forward  upon  his  bed,  and  cried 
like  a  heart-broken  child. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

In  Which  There  Is  a  Flight  by  Sea,  and  a  Duel  by 
Moonlight. 

IT  appeared,  from  Ned  Faringfield's  account  of 
himself,  that  after  his  encounter  with  Philip,  and  his 
fall  from  the  shock  of  his  wound,  he  had  awakened  to 
a  sense  of  being  still  alive,  and  had  made  his  way 
to  the  house  of  a  farmer,  whose  wife  took  pity  on 
him  and  nursed  him  in  concealment  to  recovery.  He 
then  travelled  through  the  woods  to  Staten  Island, 
where,  declaring  himself  a  deserter  from  the  rebel 
army,  he  demanded  to  be  taken  before  the  British 
commander. 

Being  conveyed  to  headquarters  in  the  Kennedy 
House,  near  the  bottom  of  the  Broadway,  he  told  his 
story,  whereupon  witnesses  to  his  identity  were  easily 
found,  and,  Captain  Falconer  having  been  brought  to 
confront  him,  he  was  released  from  bodily  custody. 
He  must  have  had  a  private  interview  with  Falconer, 
and,  perhaps,  obtained  money  from  him,  before  he 
came  to  the  Faringfield  house  to  vent  his  disappoint- 

291 


2Q2  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

ment  upon  Madge.  Or  else  he  had  got  money  from 
some  other  source ;  he  may  have  gambled  with  what 
part  of  his  pay  he  received  in  the  early  campaigns. 
He  may,  on  some  occasion,  have  safely  violated 
Washington's  orders  against  private  robbery  .under 
the  cover  of  war.  He  may  have  had  secret  dealings 
with  the  "  Skinners  "  or  other  unattached  marauders. 
In  any  case,  his  assured  manner  of  offering  Madge  a 
passage  to  England  with  him,  showed  that  he  pos 
sessed  the  necessary  means. 

He  had  instantly  recognised  a  critical  moment  of 
Madge's  life,  the  moment  when  she  found  herself 
suddenly  deprived  of  all  resource  but  a  friendly  hos 
pitality  which  she  was  too  proud  to  make  long  use 
of,  as  a  heaven-sent  occasion  for  his  ends.  At  an 
other  time,  he  would  not  have  thought  of  making 
Madge  his  partner  in  an  enterprise  like  the  Irish 
man's —  he  feared  her  too  much,  and  was  too  sensible 
of  her  dislike  and  contempt. 

He  set  forth  his  scheme  to  her  the  next  day, 
taking  her  acquiescence  for  granted.  She  listened 
quietly,  without  expressing  her  thoughts  ;  but  she 
neither  consented  nor  refused.  Ned,  however,  made 
full  arrangements  for  their  voyage ;  considering  it 
the  crowning  godsend  of  a  providential  situation,  that 
a  vessel  was  so  soon  to  make  the  trip,  notwithstand 
ing  the  unlikely  time  of  year.  When  Margaret's 
things  were  brought  over  to  our  house,  he  advised 


A    FLIGHT  BY  SEA.  293 

her  to  begin  packing  at  once,  and  he  even  busied 
himself  in  procuring  additional  trunks  from  his 
mother  and  mine,  that  she  might  be  able  to  take 
all  her  gowns  to  London.  The  importance  of  this, 
and  of  leaving  none  of  her  jewelry  behind,  he  most 
earnestly  impressed  upon  her. 

Yet  she  did  not  immediately  set  about  packing. 
Ned  probably  had  moments  of  misgiving,  and  of 
secret  cursing,  when  he  feared  he  might  be  reckon 
ing  without  his  host.  The  rest  of  us,  at  the  time, 
knew  nothing  of  what  passed  between  the  two  :  he 
pretended  that  the  extra  trunks  were  for  some  mys 
terious  baggage  of  his  own  :  nor  did  we  then  know 
what  passed  between  her  and  Captain  Falconer  late 
in  the  day,  and  upon  which,  indeed,  her  decision 
regarding  Ned's  offer  depended. 

She  had  watched  at  our  window  for  the  captain's 
passing.  When  at  length  he  appeared,  she  was 
standing  so  close  to  the  glass,  her  eyes  so  unmis 
takably  met  his  side-look,  that  he  could  not  pre 
tend  he  had  not  seen  her.  As  he  bowed  with  most 
respectful  civility,  she  beckoned  him  with  a  single 
movement  of  a  finger,  and  went,  herself,  to  let  him  in. 
When  he  had  followed  her  into  our  parlour,  his  man 
ner  was  outwardly  of  the  most  delicate  consideration, 
but  she  thought  she  saw  beneath  it  a  certain  uneasi 
ness.  They  spoke  awhile  of  her  removal  from  her 
father's  house ;  but  he  avoided  question  as  to  its 


294  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

cause,  or  as  to  her  intentions.  At  last,  she  said 
directly,  with  assumed  lightness  : 

"  I  think  of  going  to  London  with  my  brother,  on 
the  Phoebe" 

She  was  watching  him  closely  :  his  face  brightened 
wonderfully. 

"  I  vow,  you  could  do  nothing  better,"  he  said. 
"  There  vs>  your  world.  I've  always  declared  you  were 
a  stranger  in  this  far-off  land.  'Tis  time  you  found 
your  proper  element.  I  can't  help  confessing  it ;  'tis 
due  to  you  I  should  confess  it  —  though  alas  for  us 
whom  you  leave  in  New  York !  " 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  with  a  slight 
curling  of  the  lip ;  witnessed  his  recovery  from  the 
fear  that  she  might  throw  herself  upon  his  care ;  saw 
his  comfort  at  being  relieved  of  a  possible  burden  he 
was  not  prepared  to  assume ;  and  then  said,  very 
quietly  : 

"  I  think  Mrs.  Russell  is  coming.     You  had  best 

go-" 

With  a  look  of  gallant  adoration,  he  made  to  kiss 

her  hand  first.  But  she  drew  it  away,  and  put  her 
finger  to  her  lip,  as  if  to  bid  him  depart  unheard. 
When  he  had  left  the  house,  she  fell  upon  the  sofa 
and  wept,  but  only  for  wounded  vanity,  for  chagrin 
that  she  had  exposed  her  heart  to  one  of  those 
gentry  who  will  adore  a  woman  until  there  is  danger 
of  her  becoming  an  embarrassment. 


A    FLIGHT  BY  SEA.  295 

Before  long,  she  arose,  and  dried  her  eyes,  and 
went  up-stairs  to  pack  her  trunks.  Thus  ended  this 
very  light  affair  of  the  heart ;  which  had  so  heavy 
consequences  for  so  many  people. 

But  Captain  Falconer's  inward  serenity  was  not  to 
escape  with  this  unexpectedly  easy  ordeal.  When  he 
reached  his  room,  he  found  me  awaiting  him,  as  the 
representative  of  Tom  Faringfield.  I  had,  in  obedi 
ence  to  my  sense  of  duty,  put  forth  a  few  conven 
tional  dissuasions  against  Tom's  righting  the  captain; 
and  had  presumed  to  hint  that  I  was  nearer  to  him 
in  years  and  experience  than  Tom  was.  But  the  boy 
replied  with  only  a  short,  bitter  laugh  at  the  assured 
futility  of  my  attempts.  Plainly,  if  there  was  to 
be  fighting  over  this  matter,  I  ought  not  to  seek 
a  usurpation  of  Tom's  right.  And  fighting  there 
would  be,  I  knew,  whether  I  said  yea  or  nay.  Since 
Tom  must  have  a  second,  that  place  was  mine.  And 
I  felt,  too,  with  a  young  man's  foolish  faith  in  poetic 
justice,  that  the  right  must  win  ;  that  his  adversary's 
superiority  in  age  —  and  therefore  undoubtedly  in 
practice,  Falconer  being  the  man  he  was  —  would 
not  avail  against  an  honest  lad  avenging  the  probity 
of  a  sister.  And  so  I  yielded  countenance  to  the 
affair,  and  went,  as  soon  as  my  duty  permitted,  to 
wait  upon  Captain  Falconer. 

"  Why,"  said  he,  when  I  had  but  half  told  my 
errand,  "  I  was  led  to  expect  this.  The  young  gen- 


296  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

tleman  called  me  a  harsh  name,  which  I'm  willing  to 
overlook.  But  he  finds  himself  aggrieved,  and,  know 
ing  him  as  I  do,  I  make  no  doubt  he  will  not  be  con 
tent  till  we  have  a  bout  or  two.  If  I  refuse,  he  will 
dog  me,  I  believe,  and  make  trouble  for  both  of  us, 
till  I  grant  him  what  he  asks.  So  the  sooner  'tis 
done,  the  better,  I  suppose.  But  lookye,  Mr.  Rus 
sell,  'tis  sure  to  be  an  embarrassing  business.  If  one 
or  other  of  us  should  be  hurt,  there'd  be  the  devil 
to  pay,  you  know.  I  dare  say  the  General  would 
be  quite  obdurate,  and  go  the  whole  length  of  the 
law.  There's  that  to  be  thought  of.  Have  a  glass 
of  wine,  and  think  of  it." 

Tom  and  I  had  already  thought  of  it.  We  had 
been  longer  in  New  York  than  the  captain  had, 
and  we  knew  how  the  embarrassment  to  which  he 
alluded  could  be  provided  against. 

"'Tis  very  simple,"  said  I,  letting  him  drink  alone, 
which  it  was  not  easy  to  do,  he  was  still  so  likeable 
a  man.  "  We  can  go  from  Kingsbridge  as  if  we 
meant  to  join  Captain  De  Lancey  in  another  of  his 
raids.  And  we  can  find  some  spot  outside  the  lines  ; 
and  if  any  one  is  hurt,  we  can  give  it  out  as  the  work 
of  rebel  irregulars  who  attacked  us." 

He  regarded  me  silently  a  moment,  and  then  said 
the  plan  seemed  a  good  one,  and  that  he  would  name 
a  second  with  whom  I  could  arrange  details.  Where 
upon,  dismissing  the  subject  with  a  civil  expression 


A   FLIGHT  BY  SEA.  297 

of  regret  that  Tom  should  think  himself  affronted, 
he  went  on  to  speak  of  the  weather,  as  if  a  gentle 
man  ought  not  to  treat  a  mere  duel  as  a  matter  of 
deep  concern. 

I  came  away  wishing  it  were  not  so  hard  to  hate 
him.  The  second  with  whom  I  at  length  conferred 
—  for  our  duties  permitted  not  a  prompt  despatching 
of  the  affair,  and  moreover  Captain  Falconer's  dis 
position  was  to  conduct  it  with  the  gentlemanly 
leisure  its  pretended  unimportance  allowed  —  was 
Lieutenant  Hugh  Campbell,  one  of  several  officers 
of  that  name  who  served  in  the  Highland  regiment 
that  had  been  stationed  earlier  at  Valentine's  Hill ; 
he  therefore,  knew  the  debatable  country  beyond 
Kingsbridge  as  well  as  I.  He  was  a  mere  youth,  a 
serious-minded  Scot,  and  of  a  different  sort  from 
Captain  Falconer :  'twas  one  of  the  elegant  captain's 
ways,  and  evidence  of  his  breadth  of  mind,  to  make 
friends  of  men  of  other  kinds  than  his  own.  Young 
Campbell  and  I,  comparing  our  recollections  of  the 
country,  found  that  we  both  knew  of  a  little  open 
hollow  hidden  by  thickets,  quite  near  the  Kingsbridge 
tavern,  which  would  serve  the  purpose.  Captain 
Falconer's  duties  made  a  daylight  meeting  difficult 
to  contrive  without  exposing  his  movements  to  curi 
osity,  and  other  considerations  of  secrecy  likewise 
preferred  a  nocturnal  affair.  We  therefore  planned 
that  the  four  of  us,  and  an  Irish  surgeon  named 


PHILIP   WINWOOD. 

McLaughlin,  should  appear  at  the  Kingsbridge  tavern 
at  ten  o'clock  on  a  certain  night  for  which  the  almanac 
promised  moonlight,  and  should  repair  to  the  meeting- 
place  when  the  moon  should  be  high  enough  to 
illumine  the  hollow.  The  weapons  were  to  be  rapiers. 
The  preliminary  appearance  at  the  taveni  was  to  save 
a  useless  cold  wait  in  case  one  of  the  participants 
should,  by  some  freak  of  duty,  be  hindered  from  the 
appointment ;  in  which  event,  or  in  that  of  a  cloudy 
sky,  the  matter  should  be  postponed  to  the  next 
night,  and  so  on. 

The  duel  was  to  occur  upon  a  Wednesday  night. 
On  that  afternoon  I  was  in  the  town,  having  carried 
some  despatches  from  our  outpost  to  General  De 
Lancey,  and  thence  to  General  Knyphausen ;  and 
I  was  free  for  a  few  minutes  to  go  home  and  see 
my  mother. 

"  What  do  you  think  ? "  she  began,  handing  me  a 
cup  of  tea  as  soon  as  I  had  strode  to  the  parlour 
fire-place. 

"I  think  this  hot  tea  is  mighty  welcome,"  said 
I,  "and  that  my  left  ear  is  nigh  frozen.  What 
else?" 

"Margaret  has  gone,"  she  replied,  beginning  to 
rub  my  ear  vigorously. 

"  Gone  !  Where  ?  "  I  looked  around  as  if  to  make 
sure  there  was  no  sign  of  her  in  the  room. 

"  With  Ned  —  on  the  Pliacbf" 


A    FLIGHT  BY  SEA.  299 

"  The  deuce  !  How  could  you  let  her  do  it  —  you, 
and  her  mother,  and  Fanny  ?  " 

"  We  didn't  know.  I  took  some  jelly  over  to  old 
Miss  Watts — she's  very  feeble  —  and  Madge  and 
Ned  went  while  I  was  out ;  they  had  their  trunks 
carted  off  at  the  same  time.  'Twasn't  for  an  hour 
or  two  I  became  curious  why  she  kept  her  room,  as 
I  thought ;  and  when  I  went  up  to  see,  the  room  was 
empty.  There  were  two  letters  there  from  her,  one 
to  me  and  one  to  her  mother.  She  said  she  left  in 
that  way,  to  save  the  pain  of  farewells,  and  to  avoid 
our  useless  persuasions  against  her  going.  Isn't  it 
terrible  ?  —  poor  child !  Why  it  seems  only  yes 
terday—  And  my  good  mother's  lips  drew 
suddenly  down  at  the  corners,  and  she  began  to 
sniff  spasmodically. 

"  But  is  it  too  late  ?  "  I  asked,  in  a  suddenly  quieted 
voice.  That  the  brightness  and  beauty  of  Madge, 
which  had  been  a  part  of  my  world  since  I  could 
remember,  should  have  gone  from  about  us,  all  in  a 
moment !  —  'twas  a  new  thought,  and  a  strange  one. 
What  a  blank  she  left,  what  a  dulness  ! 

"Too  late,  heaven  knows!  "  said  my  mother,  drying 
her  eyes  with  a  handkerchief,  and  speaking  brokenly. 
"  As  soon  as  Mrs.  Faringfield  read  the  letters,  which 
I  had  taken  over  at  once,  Fanny  and  Mr.  Cornelius 
started  running  for  the  wharves.  But  when  they 
got  there,  the  Phoebe  wasn't  in  sight.  It  had  sailed 


300  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

immediately  their  trunks  were  aboard,  I  suppose. 
Oh,  to  think  of  pretty  Madge  —  what  will  become  of 
her  in  that  great,  bad  London  ? " 

"  She  has  made  her  plans,  no  doubt,  and  knows 
what  she  is  doing,"  said  I,  with  a  little  bitterness. 
"  Poor  Phil !  Her  father  is  much  to  blame." 

When  I  told  Tom,  as  soon  as  I  reached  the  out 
post,  he  gave  a  sudden,  ghastly,  startled  look ;  then 
collected  himself,  and  glanced  at  the  sword  with 
which  he  meant  to  fight  that  night. 

"  Why,  I  was  afraid  she  would  go,"  said  he,  in 
a  strained  voice ;  and  that  was  all. 

Whenever  I  saw  him  during  the  rest  of  the  even 
ing,  he  was  silent,  pale,  a  little  shaky  methought. 
He  was  not  as  I  had  been  before  my  maiden  duel : 
blustering  and  gay,  in  a  trance-like  recklessness ; 
assuming  self-confidence  so  well  as  to  deceive  even 
myself  and  carry  me  buoyantly  through.  He  seemed 
rather  in  suspense  like  that  of  a  lover  who  has  to 
beg  a  stern  father  for  a  daughter's  hand.  As  a 
slight  hurt  will  cause  a  man  the  greatest  pain,  and 
a  severe  injury  produce  no  greater,  so  will  the  appre 
hensions  of  a  trivial  ordeal  equal  in  effect  those  of  a 
matter  of  life  and  death  ;  there  being  a  limit  to  possi 
ble  sensation,  beyond  which  nature  leaves  us  happily 
numb.  Sometimes,  upon  occasion,  Tom  smiled,  but 
with  a  stiffness  of  countenance ;  when  he  laughed, 
it  was  in  a  short,  jerky,  mechanical  manner.  As  for 


A    FLIGHT  BY  SEA.  30 1 

me,  I  was  in  different  mood  from  that  preceding 
my  own  first  trial  of  arms :  I  was  now  overcast  in 
spirit,  tremulous,  full  of  misgivings. 

The  moon  did  not  disappoint  us  as  we  set  out  for 
the  tavern.  There  were  but  a  few  fleecy  clouds, 
and  these  not  of  an  opaqueness  to  darken  its  beams 
when  they  passed  across  it.  The  snow  was  frozen 
hard  in  the  fields,  and  worn  down  in  the  road.  The 
frost  in  the  air  bit  our  nostrils,  and  we  now  and  again 
worked  our  countenances  into  strange  grimaces,  to 
free  them  from  the  sensation  of  being  frozen  hard. 

"  'Tis  a  beautiful  night,"  said  Tom,  speaking  in 
more  composure  than  he  had  shown  during  the  early 
evening.  The  moonlight  had  a  calming  effect,  as 
the  clear  air  had  a  bracing  one.  His  eyes  roamed 
the  sky,  and  then  the  moonlit,  snow-clad  earth  — 
hillock  and  valley,  wood  and  pond,  solitary  house 
bespeaking  indoor  comfort,  and  a  glimpse  of  the 
dark  river  in  the  distance  —  and  he  added: 

"  What  a  fine  world  it  is !  " 

When  we  entered  the  warm  tap-room  of  the  tavern 
—  the  house  above  Kingsbridge,  outside  the  barriers 
where  the  passes  were  examined  and  the  people 
searched  who  were  allowed  entrance  and  departure ; 
not  Hyatt's  tavern,  South  of  the  bridge  —  we  found 
a  number  of  subalterns  there,  some  German,  some 
British,  some  half-drunk,  some  playing  cards.  Our 
Irish  surgeon  sat  in  a  corner,  reading  a  book  —  I 


3O2  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

think  'twas  a  Latin  author  —  by  the  light  of  a  tallow 
candle.  He  nodded  to  us  indifferently,  as  if  he  had 
no  engagement  with  us,  and  continued  to  read.  Tom 
and  I  ordered  a  hot  rum  punch  mixed  for  us,  and 
stood  at  the  bar  to  drink  it. 

"You  look  pale  and  shaky,  you  two,"  said  the 
tavern-keeper,  who  himself  waited  upon  us. 

"  Tis  the  cold,"  said  I.  "We're  not  all  of  your 
constitution,  to  walk  around  in  shirt-sleeves  this 
weather." 

"  Why,"  says  the  landlord,  "  I  go  by  the  almanac. 
'Tis  time  for  the  January  thaw,  'cordin'  to  that. 
Something  afoot  to-night,  eh  ?  One  o'  them  little 
trips  up  the  river,  or  out  East  Chester  way,  with 
De  Lancey's  men,  I  reckon  ? " 

We  said  nothing,  but  wisely  looked  significant,  and 
the  host  grinned. 

"  More  like  'tis  a  matter  of  wenches,"  put  in  a 
half-drunken  ensign  standing  beside  us  at  the  bar. 
"  That's  the  only  business  to  bring  a  gentleman  out 
such  a  cursed  night.  Damn  such  a  vile  country, 
cold  as  hell  in  winter,  and  hot  as  hell  in  summer ! 
Damn  it  and  sink  it !  and  fill  up  my  glass,  landlord. 
Roast  me  dead  if  /  stick  my  nose  outdoors  to-night !  " 

"  A  braw,  fine  nicht,  the  nicht,  gentlemen,"  said  a 
sober,  ruddy-faced  Scot,  very  gravely,  with  a  lofty 
contempt  for  the  other's  remarks.  "  Guid,  hamelike 
weather." 


A   FLIGHT  BY  SEA.  303 

But  the  feelings  and  thoughts  prevailing  in  the 
tap-room  were  not  in  tune  with  those  agitating  our 
hearts,  and  as  soon  as  Captain  Falconer  and  his 
friend  came  in,  we  took  our  leave,  exchanging  a  pur 
posely  careless  greeting  with  the  newcomers.  We 
turned  in  silence  from  the  road,  crossed  a  little 
sparsely  wooded  hill,  and  arrived  in  the  thicket- 
screened  hollow. 

'Twas  in  silence  we  had  come.  I  had  felt  there 
was  much  I  would  like,  and  ought,  to  say,  but  some 
thing  in  Tom's  mood  or  mine,  or  in  the  situation, 
benumbed  my  thoughts  so  they  would  not  come 
forth,  or  jumbled  them  so  I  knew  not  where  to 
begin.  Arrived  upon  the  ground  with  a  palpitating 
sense  of  the  nearness  of  the  event,  we  found  our 
selves  still  less  fit  for  utterance  of  the  things  deepest 
in  our  minds. 

"  There'll  be  some  danger  of  slipping  on  the  frozen 
snow,"  said  I,  trying  to  assume  a  natural,  even  a 
cheerful,  tone. 

"  'Tis  an  even  danger  to  both  of  us,"  said  Tom, 
speaking  quickly  to  maintain  a  steadiness  of  voice, 
as  a  drunken  man  walks  fast  to  avoid  a  crookedness 
of  gait. 

While  we  were  tramping  about  to  keep  warm,  the 
Irish  surgeon  came  to  us  through  the  bushes,  vowing 
'twas  "the  divvle's  own  weather,  shure  enough, 
barrin'  the  hivvenly  moonlight."  Opening  his  ca- 


304  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

pacious  greatcoat,  he  brought  from  concealment  a 
small  case,  which  Tom  eyed  askance,  and  I  regarded 
ominously,  though  it  had  but  a  mere  professional 
aspect  to  its  owner. 

We  soon  heard  the  tread,  and  the  low  but  easy 
voices,  of  Captain  Falconer  and  Lieutenant  Camp 
bell  ;  who  joined  us  with  salutations,  graceful  on 
Falconer's  part,  and  naturally  awkward  on  that  of 
Campbell.  How  I  admired  the  unconcerned,  leisurely 
manner  in  which  Falconer,  having  gone  a  little  aloof 
from  Tom  and  me,  removed  his  overcoat,  laced  coat, 
and  waistcoat,  giving  a  playful  shiver,  purposely 
exaggerated,  as  he  stood  in  his  ruffled  shirt  and 
well-fitting  boots  and  breeches.  I  was  awkward  in 
helping  Tom  off  with  his  outer  clothes.  The  moon 
light,  making  everything  in  the  hollow  well-nigh  as 
visible  as  by  day,  showed  Tom's  face  to  be  white, 
his  eyes  wide-open  and  darkly  radiant ;  while  in  Fal 
coner's  case  it  revealed  a  countenance  as  pleasant 
and  gracious  as  ever,  eyes  neither  set  nor  restless. 

Campbell  and  I  perfunctorily  compared  the  swords, 
gave  them  a  bend  or  two,  and  handed  them  to  the 
principals.  We  then  stood  back.  Doctor  McLaugh- 
lin  looked  on  with  a  mild  interest.  There  was  a  low 
cry,  a  ring  of  steel,  and  the  two  men  were  at  it. 

I  recall  the  moonshine  upon  their  faces,  the  swift 
dartings  of  their  faintly  luminous  blades,  their 
strangely  altering  shadows  on  the  snow  as  they 


A   FLIGHT  BY  SEA.  305 

moved,  the  steady  attention  of  us  who  looked  on,  the 
moan  of  the  wind  among  the  trees  upon  the  neigh 
bouring  heights,  the  sound  of  the  men's  tramping  on 
the  crusted  snow,  the  clear  clink  of  their  weapons, 
sometimes  the  noise  of  their  breathing.  They  eyed 
each  other  steadfastly,  seeming  to  grudge  the  mo 
mentary  winks  enforced  by  nature.  Falconer's  pur 
pose,  I  began  to  see,  was  but  to  defend  himself  and 
disarm  his  opponent.  But  Tom  gave  him  much  to 
do,  making  lightning  thrusts  with  a  suddenness  and 
persistence  that  began  at  length  to  try  the  elder 
man.  So  they  kept  it  up  till  I  should  have  thought 
they  were  tired  out. 

Suddenly  Tom  made  a  powerful  lunge  that  seemed 
to  find  the  captain  unready.  But  the  latter,  with  a 
sharp  involuntary  cry,  got  his  blade  up  in  time  to 
divert  the  point,  by  pure  accident,  with  the  guard 
of  his  hilt.  His  own  point  was  thus  turned  straight 
toward  his  antagonist ;  and  Tom,  throwing  his  weight 
after  his  weapon,  impaled  himself  upon  the  captain's. 
For  an  infinitesimal  point  of  time,  till  the  sword  was 
drawn  out,  the  lad  seemed  to  stand  upon  his  toes, 
leaning  forward,  looking  toward  the  sky  with  a  strange 
surprise  upon  his  face,  eyes  and  mouth  alike  open. 
And  then  he  collapsed  as  if  his  legs  and  body  were 
but  empty  rags  ;  and  fell  in  a  huddle  upon  the  snow : 
with  a  convulsive  movement  he  stretched  himself 
back  to  the  shape  of  a  man ;  and  lay  perfectly  still. 


306  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

The  captain  bent  over  him  with  astonishment. 
The  surgeon  ran  to  him,  and  turned  him  flat  upon 
his  back.  I  was  by  this  time  kneeling  opposite  the 
surgeon,  who  tore  open  Tom's  shirts  and  examined 
his  body. 

"  Bedad,  gentlemen,"  said  the  Irishman  sadly,  in 
a  moment,  "  he's  beyont  the  need  of  my  profession. 
'Tis  well  ye  had  that  sthory  ready,  in  case  of  accident." 

I  stared  incredulously  at  the  surgeon,  and  then 
buried  my  face  upon  the  dear  body  of  the  dead, 
mingling  my  wild  tears  with  his  blood. 

"  Oh,  Madge,  Madge,"  thought  I,  "  if  you  could 
see  what  your  folly  has  led  to  !  " 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

Follows  the  Fortunes  of  Madge  and  Ned. 

BUT  Madge  could  know  nothing  yet  of  that  night's 
occurrence.  She  was  then  many  miles  out  to  sea, 
her  thoughts  perhaps  still  lingering  behind  with  her 
old  life,  but  bound  soon  to  overtake  her,  and  to  pass 
far  ahead  to  the  world  she  was  sailing  for,  the  world 
of  her  long-cherished  desires. 

I  shall  briefly  relate  a  part  of  what  she  afterward 
recounted  to  me.  The  voyage  from  New  York  to 
Bristol  lasted  six  weeks.  She  suffered  much  from 
her  cramped  quarters,  from  the  cold  weather,  from 
seasickness ;  but  she  bore  up  against  her  present 
afflictions,  in  the  hope  of  future  compensations. 
She  put  away  from  her,  with  the  facility  of  an 
ambitious  beauty,  alike  her  regrets  for  the  past,  and 
her  misgivings  of  the  future. 

Not  to  risk  any  increase  of  those  misgivings,  she 
refrained  from  questioning  Ned  as  to  his  resources,  nor 
did  she  require  of  him  a  minute  exposition  of  his  plans. 
She  preferred  to  leave  all  to  him  and  to  circum 
stance,  considering  that,  once  launched  upon  the  sea 

307 


308  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

of  London,  and  perfectly  unrestricted  as  to  her  pro 
ceedings,  she  could  make  shift  to  keep  afloat.  She 
had  an  earnest  of  the  power  of  her  beauty,  in  its 
effect  upon  the  ship's  captain,  who,  in  the  absence 
of  passengers,  was  the  only  person  aboard  whose 
admiration  was  worth  playing  for.  She  had  the 
place  of  honour  at  his  table,  and  in  her  presence  he 
was  nothing  but  eyes  and  dumb  confusion,  while  the 
extraordinary  measures  he  took  for  her  comfort 
proclaimed  him  her  willing  slave. 

She  listened  without  objection  or  comment  when 
Ned,  in  confidential  moods,  forced  his  purposes  upon 
her  attention. 

"  We'll  make  'em  stare,  my  dear,"  said  he. 
"We'll  make  'em  open  their  eyes  a  bit;  just  you 
wait !  We'll  find  lodgings  somewhere  in  the  thick 
of  the  town,  and  I'll  take  you  to  the  theatres,  and  to 
walk  in  St.  James  Park,  and  to  the  public  assemblies, 
and  wherever  you're  sure  to  be  seen.  I  wish  'twere 
Summer  ;  then  there'd  be  Vauxhall  and  Ranelagh, 
and  all  that.  'Tis  a  bad  time  of  year  in  London 
now ;  but  we'll  do  our  best.  There'll  be  young 
sparks  of  quality  enough,  to  ask  each  other  who  that 
goddess  is,  and  that  Venus,  and  that  angel,  and  all 
that  kind  of  thing  ;  and  they'll  be  mad  to  make  your 
acquaintance.  They'll  take  note  of  me,  and  when 
they  see  me  at  the  coffee-houses  and  faro-tables, 
they'll  fall  over  one  another  in  the  rush  to  know  me, 


FORTUNES   OF  MADGE   AND  NED.  309 

and  to  be  my  friends.  And  I'll  pick  out  the  best, 
and  honour  'em  with  invitations  to  call  at  our  lodg 
ings,  and  there'll  be  my  pretty  sister  to  mix  a  punch 
for  us,  or  pour  out  tea  for  us  ;  and  once  we  let  'em 
see  we're  as  good  quality  as  any  of  'em,  and  won't 
stand  any  damn'  nonsense,  why,  you  leave  it  to 
brother  Ned  to  land  a  fat  fish,  that's  all !  " 

She  had  a  fear  that  his  operations  might  at  length 
become  offensive  to  her  taste,  might  stray  from  the 
line  of  her  own  ambitions  ;  but  she  saw  good  reason 
to  await  developments  in  silence ;  and  to  postpone 
deviating  from  Ned's  wishes,  until  they  should  cease 
to  forward  hers. 

Upon  her  landing  at  Bristol,  and  looking  around 
with, interest  at  the  shipping  which  reminded  her  of 
New  York  but  to  emphasise  her  feeling  of  exile 
therefrom,  her  thrilling  sense  of  being  at  last  in  the 
Old  World,  abated  her  heaviness  at  leaving  the  ship 
which  seemed  the  one  remaining  tie  with  her  former 
life.  If  ever  a  woman  felt  herself  to  be  entering 
upon  life  anew,  and  realised  a  necessity  of  blotting 
the  past  from  memory,  it  was  she ;  and  well  it  was 
that  the  novelty  of  her  surroundings,  the  sense  of 
treading  the  soil  whereon  she  had  so  long  pined  to 
set  foot,  aided  her  resolution  to  banish  from  her 
mind  all  that  lay  behind  her. 

The  time-worn,  weather-beaten  aspect  of  the  town, 
its  old  streets  thronged  with  people  of  whom  she 


310  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

was  not  known  to  a  soul,  would  have  made  her  dis 
consolate,  had  she  not  forced  herself  to  contemplate 
with  interest  the  omnipresent  antiquity,  to  her 
American  eyes  so  new.  And  so,  as  she  had  heroic 
ally  endured  seasickness,  she  now  fought  bravely 
against  homesickness ;  and,  in  the  end,  as  nearly 
conquered  it  as  one  ever  does. 

'Twas  a  cold  ride  by  stage-coach  to  London,  at 
that  season  ;  there  were  few  travellers  in  the  coach, 
and  those  few  were  ill-natured  with  discomfort, 
staring  fiercely  at  the  two  strangers  —  whose 
strangeness  they  instantly  detected  by  some  uncon 
scious  process  —  as  if  the  pair  were  responsible  for 
the  severe  February  weather,  or  guilty  of  some  un 
known  crime.  At  the  inns  where  they  stopped,  for 
meals  and  overnight,  they  were  subjected  to  a  pro 
tracted  gazing  on  the  part  of  all  who  saw  them  —  an 
inspection  seemingly  resentful  or  disapproving,  but 
indeed  only  curious.  It  irritated  Madge,  who  asked 
Ned  what  the  cause  might  be. 

"Tut!  Don't  mind  it,"  said  he.  "  Tis  the  way 
of  the  English,  everywhere  but  in  London.  They 
stare  at  strangers  as  if  they  was  in  danger  of  being 
insulted  by  'em,  or  having  their  pockets  picked  by 
'em,  or  at  best  as  if  they  was  looking  at  some  remark 
able  animal ;  but  they  mean  no  harm  by  it." 

"  How  can  they  see  we  are  strangers  ? "  she  queried. 
"We're  dressed  like  them." 


FORTUNES   OF  MADGE   AND  NED.  311 

"  God  knows !  Perhaps  because  we  look  more 
cheerful  than  they  do,  and  have  a  brisker  way,  and 
laugh  easier,"  conjectured  Ned.  "But  you'll  feel 
more  at  home  in  London." 

By  the  time  she  arrived  in  London,  having  slept 
in  a  different  bed  each  night  after  landing,  and  eaten 
at  so  many  different  inns  each  day,  Madge  felt  as  if 
she  had  been  a  long  while  in  England.8  She  came  to 
the  town  thus  as  to  a  haven  of  rest ;  and  though  she 
was  still  gazed  at  for  her  beauty,  it  was  not  in  that 
ceaseless  and  mistrustful  way  in  which  she  had  been 
scrutinised  from  top  to  toe  in  the  country  ;  moreover, 
the  names  of  many  of  the  streets  and  localities  were 
familiar  to  her,  and  in  her  thoughts  she  had  already 
visited  them  :  for  these  reasons,  which  were  more 
than  Ned  had  taken  account  of,  she  did  indeed  feel 
somewhat  at  home  in  London,  as  he  had  predicted. 

The  night  of  their  arrival  was  passed  at  the  inn, 
in  the  Strand,  where  the  coach  had  set  them  down. 
The  next  morning  Ned  chose  lodgings  in  Craven 
Street :  three  rooms,  constituting  the  entire  first 
floor ;  which  Madge,  though  she  thought  the  house 
had  a  dingy  look,  found  comfortable  enough  in  their 
faded  way  ;  and  wherein  the  two  were  installed  by 
noon.  They  spent  the  afternoon  walking  about  the 
most  famous  streets,  returning  to  their  lodgings  for 
dinner. 

"  I    think,"    said    Ned,    while    they    were    eating, 


312  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

"'tvvon't  do  any  harm  to  get  on  one  of  your  best 
gowns,  and  your  furbelows,  and  we'll  go  to  the  play, 
and  begin  the  campaign  this  very  night." 

"  Bless  me,  no !  I'm  tired  to  death  with  sight 
seeing,"  replied  Madge.  "I  could  fall  asleep  this 
moment.  Besides,  who's  here  to  dress  my  hair  ?  I 
couldn't  go  without  a  commode." 

"Oh,  well,  just  as  you  like.  Only  be  pleased  to 
remember,  ma'am,  my  purse  isn't  a  widow's  mite  — 
widow's  cruse  of  oil,  I  mean,  that  runs  for  ever.  I've 
been  at  a  great  expense  to  bring  you  here,  and  pounds 
and  shillings  don't  rain  from  heaven  like  —  like  that 
stuff  the  Jews  lived  on  for  forty  years  in  the  wilder 
ness.  The  sooner  we  land  our  fish,  the  sooner  we'll 
know  where  the  money's  coming  from.  I  sha'n't  be 
able  to  pay  for  lodgings  and  meals  very  long." 

"Why,  'tis  a  pretty  pass  if  you've  no  more 
money  — 

"  Well,  it  is  a  pretty  pass,  and  that's  just  what  it 
is.  I  didn't  count  the  cost  when  I  made  the  generous 
offer  to  bring  you.  Oh,  we  can  last  a  week  or  so 
yet,  but  the  sooner  something  is  done,  the  sooner  we 
shall  be  easy  in  our  minds.  On  second  thoughts, 
though,  you'd  better  go  to  bed  and  rest.  It  mightn't 
be  well  to  flash  on  the  town  to-night,  looking  fagged, 
and  without  your  hair  dressed,  and  all  that.  So  you 
go  to  bed  and  I'll  go  around  and  —  call  upon  a  few 
friends  I  made  when  I  was  here  before." 


FORTUNES  OF  MADGE   AND  NED.  313 

Ned  had  so  improved  his  attire,  by  acquisitions  in 
New  York,  Bristol,  and  London,  that  his  appearance 
was  now  presentable  in  the  haunts  of  gentlemen. 
So  he  went  out,  leaving  her  alone.  She  could  no 
longer  postpone  meditating  upon  what  was  before 
her. 

Now  that  she  viewed  it  for  the  first  time  in  definite 
particulars,  its  true  aspect  struck  her  with  a  sudden 
dismay.  She  was  expected  to  do  nothing  less  than 
exhibit  herself  for  sale,  put  herself  up  at  auction  for 
the  highest  bidder,  set  out  her  charms  as  a  bait. 
And  when  the  bait  drew,  and  the  bidders  offered, 
and  the  buyer  awaited  —  what  then?  She  would 
never,  her  pride  alone  would  never  let  her,  degrade 
herself  to  a  position  at  the  very  thought  of  which 
she  caught  her  breath  with  horror.  Come  what  may, 
the  man  who  purchased  her  must  put  the  transaction 
into  the  form  of  marriage.  True,  she  was  already 
married,  in  the  view  of  the  law ;  but,  with  a  woman's 
eye  for  essentials,  she  felt  her  divorce  from  Philip 
already  accomplished.  The  law,  she  allowed,  would 
have  to  be  satisfied  with  matters  of  form  :  but  that 
was  a  detail  to  be  observed  when  the  time  came ; 
Philip  would  not  oppose  obstacles. 

So  she  would  let  matters  take  their  course,  would 
wait  upon  occurrences.  In  very  truth,  to  put  herself 
on  view  with  intent  of  catching  a  husband,  of  obtain 
ing  an  establishment  in  life,  was  no  more  than  young 


314  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

ladies  of  fashion,  of  virtue,  of  piety,  did  continually, 
under  the  skilled  direction  of  the  most  estimable 
mothers.  In  Madge's  case,  the  only  difference  was, 
on  the  one  side,  the  excuse  of  necessity ;  on  the 
other  side,  the  encumbrance  of  her  existing  marriage. 
But  the  latter  could  be  removed,  whereas  the  former 
would  daily  increase. 

She  must,  therefore,  benefit  by  Ned's  operations 
as  long  as  they  did  not  threaten  to  degrade  her.  By 
the  time  they  did  threaten  so,  she  would  have  gained 
some  experience  of  her  own,  circumstances  would 
have  arisen  which  she  could  turn  to  her  use.  Of 
actual  destitution,  never  having  felt  it,  she  could  not 
conceive  ;  and  therefore  she  did  not  take  acccount 
of  its  possibility  in  her  case. 

So,  having  recovered  from  her  brief  panic,  she 
went  to  bed  and  slept  soundly. 

The  next  morning  Ned  was  in  jubilant  spirits. 
His  visit  the  previous  night  had  been  to  a  gaming 
house  in  Covent  Garden,  and  fortune  had  showered 
him  with  benefactions.  He  saw  the  margin  of  time 
at  their  disposal  lengthened  by  several  weeks.  He 
bade  his  sister  put  herself  at  her  best,  drank  with 
her  to  their  success,  and  went  and  engaged  a  hair 
dresser  and  a  maid.  They  went  that  night,  in  a 
hackney-coach,  to  the  play  at  Drury  Lane. 

The  open-mouthed  gazing  of  her  new  maid,  the 
deftly  spoken  admiration  of  her  hairdresser,  and  the 


FORTUNES   OF  MADGE   AND   NED.  315 

mirror  upon  her  dressing-table,  had  prepared  Madge 
for  triumph.  Her  expectations  were  not  disap 
pointed,  but  they  were  almost  forgotten.  Her  pleas 
ure  at  sight  of  the  restless,  chattering  crowd ;  her 
interest  in  the  performance ;  her  joy  in  seeing,  in 
fine  :  supplanted  half  the  consciousness  of  being  seen. 
But  she  was,  indeed,  stared  at  from  all  parts  of  the 
house ;  people  looked,  and  nudged  one  another ;  and 
the  powdered  bucks  and  beauties  in  the  side-boxes, 
glancing  up,  forgot  their  own  looks  in  examining  hers. 

Ned  was  elated  beyond  measure.  He  praised  her 
all  the  way  home  in  the  coach,  and  when  they  stood 
at  last  on  the  step  of  their  lodging-house,  he  waited 
a  moment  before  going  in,  and  looked  back  toward 
the  Strand,  half-thinking  that  some  susceptible  and 
adventurous  admirer  might  have  followed  their  con 
veyance  to  the  door. 

The  next  day,  Sunday,  he  took  her  to  church,  at 
St.  James's  in  Piccadilly,  where  they  had  difficulty  in 
getting  seats,  and  where  several  pious  dowagers  were 
scandalised  at  the  inattention  of  their  male  company 
to  the  service.  Ned  walked  out  alone  in  the  after 
noon,  but,  to  his  surprise,  he  was  not  accosted  by  any 
gentleman  pretending  to  recognise  him  as  some  one 
else,  as  a  means  of  knowing  him  as  himself. 

On  Monday  he  made  himself  seen  at  numerous 
coffee-houses  and  taverns,  but,  although  he  came 
upon  two  or  three  faces  that  he  had  noted  in  the 


316  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

theatre,  no  one  looked  at  him  with  any  sign  of  recol 
lection.  "Well,  well,"  thought  he,  and  afterward 
said  to  Madge,  "  in  time  they  will  come  to  remember 
me  as  the  lovely  creature's  escort ;  at  first  their  eyes 
will  be  all  for  the  lovely  creature  herself." 

They  went  to  Covent  Garden  that  evening,  and  to 
the  Haymarket  the  next ;  and  subsequently  to  public 
assemblies :  Madge  everywhere  arresting  attention, 
and  exciting  whispers  and  elbowings  among  observers 
wherever  she  passed.  At  the  public  balls,  she  was 
asked  to  dance,  by  fellows  of  whom  neither  she  nor 
Ned  approved,  but  who,  Ned  finally  came  to  urge, 
might  be  useful  acquaintances  as  leading  to  better 
ones.  But  she  found  all  of  them  contemptible,  and 
would  not  encourage  any  of  them. 

"  If  we  could  only  get  an  invite  to  some  private 
entertainment,  the  thing  would  be  done  in  a  jiffy," 
said  Ned,  "  but  damn  it,  you  won't  lead  on  any  of 
these  fellows  —  sure  they  must  know  ladies  to  whom 
they  would  mention  you." 

"  I  shouldn't  think  much  of  ladies  that  sought 
acquaintances  on  their  recommendation." 

"Why,  curse  it,  we  must  begin  somewhere,  to 
get  in." 

"  If  we  began  where  these  could  open  the  doors, 
I  warrant  we  shouldn't  get  very  far  in." 

"  Rat  me  if  I  understand  why  the  men  that  are 
taken  with  you  at  the  play,  and  elsewhere  —  real 


FORTUNES   OF  MADGE  AND  NED.  317 

gentlemen  of  quality,  some  of  'em  —  never  try  to 
follow  you  up  through  me.  I've  put  myself  in  their 
way,  the  Lord  knows.  Maybe  they  think  I'm  your  hus 
band.  Curse  it,  there  is  a  difficulty  !  If  you  walked 
alone,  in  St.  James  Park,  or  past  the  clubs  —  " 

"  You  scoundrel,  do  you  think  I've  come  to  that  ?  " 

Her  look  advised  him  not  to  pursue  his  last  sug 
gestion.  By  this  time  his  expectations  from  their 
public  appearances  together  had  been  sadly  damp 
ened.  They  must  make  acquaintances; -creditable 
ones,  that  is  to  say,  for  of  another  kind  he  had 
enough  and  to  spare. 

But  at  last,  after  some  weeks,  during  which  he 
remained  unapproached,  and  at  the  end  of  which 
he  came  to  a  belated  perception  of  the  insuperable 
barrier  between  the  elect  and  the  undesirable,  and  of 
his  own  identity  with  the  latter  class,  he  decided  he 
must  fall  back  upon  his  friends  for  what  they  might 
be  worth.  He  had  undergone  many  snubs  in  his 
efforts  to  thrust  himself  upon  fine  gentlemen  in 
taverns,  coffee-houses,  and  gaming-places.  As  for 
Madge,  her  solitude  had  been  mitigated  by  her  en 
joyment  of  plays  and  sights,  of  the  external  glimpses 
of  that  life  to  which  her  entrance  seemed  impossible. 

Ned  began  therefore  to  bring  his  associates  to 
their  lodgings  :  chiefly,  a  gambling  barrister  of  Lin 
coln's  Inn,  a  drunken  cashiered  captain  of  marines, 
and  a  naval  surgeon's  mate  with  an  unhealthy  out- 


318  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

break  on  his  face.  One  meeting  with  each  rascal 
sufficed  to  make  Madge  deny  her  presence  upon  his 
next  visit.  At  this  Ned  raged,  declaring  that  these 
gentlemen,  though  themselves  in  adverse  circum 
stances,  had  relations  and  friends  among  the  quality 
or  the  wealthy.  And  at  length  he  triumphantly 
made  good  his  assertion  by  introducing  a  youth  to 
whom  the  barrister  had  introduced  him,  and  who,  he 
whispered  to  Madge,  though  not  blessed  with  a  title, 
was  the  heir  in  prospect  of  an  immense  fortune.  It 
came  out  that  he  was  the  son  of  a  prosperous  fish 
monger  in  the  city. 

He  was  a  fat,  good-humoured  fellow,  expensively 
dressed,  and  clean,  being  in  all  these  points  an  ex 
ception  among  Ned's  acquaintances.  Madge  found 
him,  as  a  mere  acquaintance,  more  amusing  than  in 
tolerable  ;  but  as  a  possible  husband,  not  to  be  thought 
of  save  with  laughter  and  contempt. 

Her  refusal  to  consider  him  in  the  desired  light, 
made  Ned  very  wroth  ;  and  in  revenge  he  went  out, 
and,  between  drink  and  gaming,  rid  himself  of  every 
penny  he  possessed.  He  thereupon  begged  that 
Madge  would  let  him  pawn  some  of  her  jewelry. 
She  refused  to  do  so  ;  until  their  landlady  threatened 
ejection  and  suit. 

After  that,  matters  went  from  bad  to  worse.  With 
part  of  the  money  obtained  upon  what  trinkets  she 
gave  him,  Ned  tried  to  repair  his  fortunes  at  the 


FORTUNES   OF  MADGE   AND  NED.  319 

gaming-table  ;  and  that  failing,  he  consoled  himself 
in  drunkenness.  More  of  her  valuables  were  de 
manded  ;  yielded  up  after  terrible  quarrels  with  Ned, 
and  humiliating  scenes  with  the  landlady.  The  visits 
to  the  play  ceased,  the  maid  was  discharged,  the 
hairdresser  was  no  more  brought  into  requisition. 
Their  fall  to  destitution  was  worthy  of  the  hare 
brained  design,  the  bungling  conduct,  of  Ned ;  the 
childish  inexperience,  the  blind  confidence,  of  Madge. 
'Twas  a  fall  as  progressive  as  a  series  of  prints  by 
Hogarth.  The  brother  was  perpetually  in  liquor;  he 
no  longer  took  Madge  out  with  him.  Often  he  stayed 
away  nights  and  days  at  a  time. 

She  resolved  to  entrust  nothing  further  to  him,  but 
to  dispose  of  her  ornaments  herself,  and  to  devote 
the  proceeds  to  necessities  alone,  as  he  had  wasted 
them  in  drink  and  gaming.  When  she  acted  upon 
this  resolution,  he  behaved  like  a  madman.  Fearful 
quarrels  ensued.  He  blamed  her  for  defeating  his 
plans,  she  upbraided  him  for  alluring  her  to  London. 
Recriminations  and  threats  filled  the  hours  when  he 
was  with  her  ;  loneliness  and  despondency  occupied 
the  periods  of  his  absence.  Finally,  while  she  slept, 
he  robbed  her  of  money  she  had  got  upon  a  bracelet ; 
then  of  some  of  the  jewelry  itself.  She  dared  no 
longer  sleep  soundly,  lest  he  might  take  away  her 
last  means  of  subsistence.  She  was  in  daily  and 
nightly  terror  of  him. 


32O  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

She  made  up  her  mind,  at  last,  to  flee  to  some 
other  part  of  the  town,  and  hide  from  him  ;  that  her 
few  resources  left  might  be  devoted  to  herself  alone, 
and  thus  postpone  the  day  of  destruction  to  the  fur 
thest  possible  time.  After  her  last  jewel,  she  might 
dispose  of  her  dresses.  It  was  on  a  moonlight  night 
in  spring  that  she  came  to  this  determination  ;  and, 
as  Ned  had  gone  out  in  a  mood  apparently  presaging 
a  long  absence,  she  set  about  packing  her  clothes  into 
her  trunks,  so  as  to  take  them  with  her  when  she 
left  by  hackney-coach  at  early  daylight  to  seek  new 
lodgings. 

Suddenly  she  heard  the  door  below  slam  with  a 
familiar  violence,  and  a  well-known  heavy  tread  ascend 
the  stairs.  There  was  no  time  to  conceal  what  she  was 
at,  ere  Ned  flung  open  the  door,  and  stumbled  in.  He 
stared  in  amazement  at  her  trunks  and  dresses. 

"  What's  this  ?  "  he  cried.  "  Why  is  all  this,  trash 
lying  around  ?  Why,  damme,  you're  packing  your 
trunks  !  " 

She  had  passed  the  mood  for  dissembling.  "  Well," 
she  retorted,  "  I  may  pack  my  trunks  if  I  please. 
They're  my  trunks,  and  my  things  in  'em." 

"  What !  You  thankless  hussy,  were  you  going  to 
run  away?" 

"  'Tis  no  concern  of  yours,  what  I  was  going  to 
do!" 

"  Oh,  isn't  it  ?     We'll  see  about  that !     Begad,  'tis 


HE    FINALLY     DREW    BACK.     TO      GIVE     HER     A     MORE    EFFEC 
TUAL    BLOW." 


FORTUNES  OF  MADGE   AND   NED.  $21 

lucky  I  came  back !  So  you  were  going  to  desert 
me,  eh  ?  Well,  I'm  damned  if  there  was  ever  such 
ingratitude  !  After  all  I've  done  and  suffered  !  " 

She  gave  a  derisive  laugh,  and  defiantly  resumed 
her  packing. 

"  What !  you're  rebellious,  are  you  ? "  quoth  he. 
"  But  you'll  not  get  away  from  me  so  easy,  my  lady. 
Not  with  those  clothes,  at  least ;  for  yourself,  it 
doesn't  much  matter.  I'll  just  put  those  things  back 
into  the  press,  and  after  this  I'll  carry  the  key.  But 
your  rings  and  necklace — I'll  take  charge  of  them 
first." 

He  stepped  forward  to  lay  hands  upon  the  orna 
ments,  which,  for  their  greater  security  from  him, 
she  now  wore  upon  her  person  at  all  times.  She 
sprang  away,  ready  to  defend  them  by  every  possible 
means,  and  warning  him  not  to  touch  her.  Her 
flashing  eyes  and  fiery  mien  checked  him  for  a  mo 
ment  ;  then,  with  a  curse,  he  seized  her  by  the  neck 
and  essayed  to  undo  the  necklace.  Thereupon  she 
screamed  loudly  for  help.  To  intimidate  her  into 
silence,  he  struck  her  in  the  face.  At  that  she 
began  to  struggle  and  hit,  so  that  he  was  hard  put 
to  it  to  retain  hold  of  her  and  to  save  his  face  from 
her  hands.  Enraged  by  her  efforts,  he  finally  drew 
back  to  give  her  a  more  effectual  blow ;  which  he 
succeeded  in  doing,  but  at  the  cost  of  relaxing  his 
grasp,  so  that  she  slipped  from  him  and  escaped  by 


322  PHILIP   WINWOOD. 

the  door.  She  hastened  down  the  stairs  and  into  the 
street,  he  in  wrathful  pursuit.  She  fled  toward 
the  Strand. 

At  the  corner  of  that  thoroughfare,  she  ran  into 
a  trio  of  gentlemen  who  just  at  the  moment  reached 
the  junction  of  the  two  streets. 

"The  deuce!  "  cried  one  of  the  three,  flinging  his 
arms  around  her.  "  What  have  we  here  ?  Beauty 
in  distress  ? " 

"Let  me  go!"  she  cried.  "Don't  let  him  take 
me." 

"  Him  !  "  echoed  the  gentleman,  releasing  her.  He 
was  a  distinguished-looking  fellow  of  twenty-eight  or 
so,  with  a  winning  face  and  very  fine  eyes.  "  Oh, 
I  see.  The  villain  in  pursuit !  " 

"  Egad,  that  makes  you  the  hero  to  the  rescue, 
Dick,"  said  one  of  the  young  gentleman's  com 
panions. 

"  Faith,  I'll  play  the  part,  too,"  replied  Dick. 
"  Fear  not,  madam." 

"Thank  you,  sir,  for  stopping  her,"  said  Ned, 
coming  up,  panting. 

"  Pray,  don't  waste  your  thanks.  What  shall  I  do 
to  the  rascal,  madam  ? " 

"  I  don't  care,"  she  answered.  "  Don't  let  him 
have  me." 

"  None  of  that,  sir,"  spoke  up  Ned.  "  She's  a 
runaway,  and  I'm  her  natural  protector." 


FORTUNES   OF  MADGE   AND  NED.  323 

"  Her  husband  ? "  inquired  Dick. 

"No  —  " 

"I  congratulate  you,  madam." 

"  I'm  her  brother,"  said  Ned. 

"And  condole  with  you  in  the  same  breath,"  fin 
ished  Dick,  to  Margaret.  "  You're  a  lady,  I  see. 
Pardon  my  familiarity  at  first.  Sure  you  needn't 
fear  me  —  I  have  a  wife  as  beautiful  as  yourself.  As 
for  this  relation  of  yours  — 

"  He  tried  to  rob  me  of  my  necklace  and  rings. 
We  lodge  yonder,  where  the  light  is  in  the  window. 
He  found  me  packing  my  trunks  to  leave  him  — 

"And  leave  him  you  shall.  Shall  she  not,  gen 
tlemen  ? " 

His  two  companions  warmly  assented.  Ned  sav 
agely  measured  them  with  his  eyes,  but  did  not 
dare  a  trial  of  prowess  against  three.  Moreover, 
their  courtly  address  and  easy  manners  disconcerted 
him. 

"Oh,  I  sha'n't  harm  her,"  he  grumbled.  "  'Twas 
but  a  tiff.  Let  her  come  back  home  ;  'twill  be  all 
well." 

But  Madge  was  not  for  resigning  herself  a  moment 
to  his  mercy.  She  briefly  explained  her  situation  and 
her  wishes.  The  upshot  of  all  was,  that  the  young 
gentleman  called  Dick  turned  to  his  friends  and 
said  : 

"  What    say    you,   gentlemen  ?      Our    friends    at 


324  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

Brooks's  can  wait,  I  think.  Shall  we  protect  this 
lady  while  she  packs  her  trunks,  find  lodgings  for 
her  this  very  night,  and  see  her  installed  in 
them  ? " 

"Ay,  and  see  that  this  gentle  brother  does  not 
follow  or  learn  where  she  goes,"  answered  one. 

"Bravo!"  cried  the  other.  "Twill  be  like  an 
incident  in  a  comedy,  Dick." 

"Rather  like  a  page  of  Smollett,"  replied  Dick. 
"With  your  permission,  madam,  we'll  accompany 
you  to  your  lodgings." 

They  sat  around  the  fireplace,  with  their  backs  to 
her,  and  talked  with  easy  gaiety,  while  she  packed 
her  possessions ;  Ned  having  first  followed  them  in, 
and  then  fled  to  appease  his  mind  at  an  ale-house. 
Finally  Dick  and  one  of  the  gentlemen  closed  her 
trunks  for  her,  while  the  other  went  for  a  coach ; 
wherein  all  three  accompanied  her  to  the  house  of 
a  wigmaker  known  to  Dick,  in  High  Holborn ;  where 
they  roused  the  inmates,  made  close  terms,  and  left 
her  installed  in  a  decent  room  with  her  belongings. 

As  they  took  their  leave,  after  an  almost  tearful 
burst  of  thanks  on  her  part,  Dick  said : 

"  From  some  of  your  expressions,  madam,  I  gather 
that  your  resources  are  limited  —  resources  of  one 
kind,  I  mean.  But  in  your  appearance,  your  air, 
and  your  voice,  you  possess  resources,  which  if  ever 
you  feel  disposed  to  use,  I  beg  you  will  let  me 


FORTUNES  OF  MADGE   AND  NED.  325 

know.  Pray  don't  misunderstand  me ;  the  world 
knows  how  much  I  am  in  love  with  my  wife." 9 

When  he  had  gone,  leaving  her  puzzled  and 
astonished,  she  turned  to  the  wigmaker's  wife,  who 
was  putting  the  room  to  rights,  and  asked  : 

"Pray  what  is  that  last  gentleman's  name?" 

"  Wot,  ma'am  !      Can  it  be  you  don't  know  'im  ?  " 

"He  forgot  to  tell  me." 

"  Sure  'e  thought  as  you  must  know  already. 
Everybody  in  London  knows  the  great  Mr.  Sheri 
dan." 

"What!  Mr.  Richard  Brinsley  Sheridan,  the 
dramatist  ? " 

"And  manager  of  Drury  Lane  Theaytre.  Didn't 
you  'ear  'im  hoffer  to  put  you  on  the  stage,  w'en  'e 
spoke  about  your  looks  and  voice  ?  " 

Madge  turned  to  the  mirror ;  and  saw,  for  the 
first  time  in  weeks,  a  sudden  light  of  hope,  a  sense 
of  triumphs  yet  in  her  power,  dawn  upon  her  face. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 
/  Hear  Again  from    Winwood. 

MEANWHILE  we  passed  through  a  time  of  deep 
sorrow  at  the  Faringfield  house  and  ours.  The 
effect  of  Tom's  untimely  fate,  coming  upon  Mar 
garet's  departure  and  the  disclosures  regarding  her 
and  Ned,  was  marked  in  Mr.  Faringfield  by  a  hag- 
gardness  of  countenance,  an  averted  glance,  a  look 
of  age,  pitiful  to  see.  His  lady  considered  herself 
crushed  by  affliction,  as  one  upon  whom  grief  had 
done  its  worst ;  and  she  resigned  herself  to  the  role 
of  martyr  in  the  comfortably  miserable  way  that 
some  people  do,  without  losing  her  appreciation  of 
the  small  consolations  of  life,  such  as  morning 
chocolate,  afternoon  tea,  and  neighbourly  conversa 
tion  upon  the  subject  of  her  woes.  Poor  Fanny 
bore  up  for  the  sake  of  cheering  her  parents,  but 
her  face,  for  a  long  time,  was  rarely  without  the 
traces  of  tears  shed  in  solitude.  Of  that  house 
hold  of  handsome,  merry  children,  whose  playful 
shouts  had  once  filled  the  mansion  and  garden  with 
life,  she  was  now  the  only  one  left.  I  sighed  to  think 

326 


/  HEAR  AGAIN  FROM   WINWOOD.  327 

that  my  chances  of  taking  her  away  from  that  house 
were  now  reduced  to  the  infinitesimal.  Her  parents, 
who  had  brought  into  the  world  so  promising  a  family, 
to  find  themselves  now  so  nearly  alone,  must  not  be 
left  entirely  so  :  such  would  be  her  answer  to  any 
pleas  I  might  in  my  selfishness  offer. 

What  a  transformation  had  been  wrought  in  that 
once  cheerful  household !  How  many  lives  were 
darkened  !  —  Mr.  Faringfi eld's,  his  wife's,  Fanny's, 
Philip's  (when  he  should  know),  Madge's  (sooner 
or  later),  the  sympathetic  Cornelius's,  my  mother's, 
my  own.  And  what  a  promising,  manly,  gentle  life 
had  been  cut  short  in  its  earliest  bloom  !  I  knew 
that  Tom's  life  alone  had  been  worth  a  score  of  lives 
like  Captain  Falconer's.  And  the  cause  of  all  this, 
though  Margaret  was  much  to  blame,  was  the  idle 
resolve  of  a  frivolous  lady-killer  to  add  one  more  con 
quest  to  his  list,  in  the  person  of  a  woman  for  whom 
he  did  not  entertain  more  than  the  most  superficial  feel 
ings.  What  a  sacrifice  had  been  made  for  the  tran 
sient  gratification  of  a  stranger's  vanity !  What 
bitter  consequences,  heartrending  separations,  had 
come  upon  all  of  us  who  had  lived  so  close  together 
so  many  pleasant  years,  through  the  careless  self- 
amusement  of  a  chance  interloper  whose  very  name 
we  had  not  known  six  months  before ! 

And  now,  the  pleasure-seeker's  brief  pastime  in 
that  quarter  being  ended,  the  lasting  sorrows  of  his 


328  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

victims  having  begun  ;  his  own  career  apparently  not 
altered  from  its  current,  their  lives  diverted  rudely 
into  dark  channels  and  one  of  them  stopped  short  for 
ever  :  was  the  matter  to  rest  so  ? 

You  may  easily  guess  what  my  answer  was  to  this 
question.  When  I  pondered  on  the  situation,  I  no 
longer  found  Captain  Falconer  a  hard  man  to  hate. 
The  very  lightness  of  his  purpose,  contrasted  with 
the  heaviness  of  its  consequences,  aggravated  his 
crime.  To  risk  so  much  upon  other  people,  to  gain 
so  little  for  himself,  was  the  more  heinous  sin  than 
its  converse  would  have  been.  That  he  might  not 
have  foreseen  the  evil  consequences  made  possible, 
was  no  palliation  :  he  ought  to  have  examined  the 
situation ;  or  indeed  he  ought  to  have  heeded  what 
he  must  have  known,  that  little  offences  may  always 
entail  dire  evils.  Measured  by  their  possibility  to 
work  havoc  with  lives,  there  are  no  small  sins.  The 
man  who  enters  carelessly  upon  a  trivial  deviation  is 
therefore  as  much  to  be  held  responsible  as  he  that 
walks  deliberately  into  the  blackest  crime.  Not  to 
know  this,  is  not  to  have  studied  life  ;  and  not  to  have 
studied  life  is,  in  a  person  of  mature  years,  a  mighty  sin 
of  omission,  because  of  the  great  evils  that  may  arise 
from  ignorance.  But  Captain  Falconer  must  have 
known  life,  must  have  seen  the  hazards  of  his  course. 
Therefore  he  was  responsible  in  any  view  ;  and  there 
fore  I  would  do  my  utmost  toward  exacting  payment 


I  HEAR   AGAIN  FROM   WINWOOD.  329 

from  him.  Plainly,  in  Philip's  absence,  the  right  fell 
to  me,  as  his  friend  and  Tom's  —  nay,  too,  as  the 
provisionally  accepted  husband  of  Mr.  Faringfield's 
second  daughter. 

But  before  I  got  an  opportunity  to  make  a  quarrel 
with  Falconer  (who  had  moved  his  quarters  from  the 
Faringfield  house,  wherein  he  had  not  slept  or  eaten 
since  the  night  of  Margaret's  leaving  it,  though  he 
had  spent  some  time  in  his  rooms  there  on  the 
ensuing  day)  I  had  a  curious  interview  with  Mr. 
Faringfield. 

While  in  the  town  one  day,  I  had  stopped  as  usual 
to  see  my  mother.  Just  as  I  was  about  to  remount 
my  horse,  Mr.  Faringfield  appeared  at  his  garden 
gate.  Beckoning  me  to  him,  he  led  the  way  into 
the  garden,  and  did  not  stop  until  we  were  behind  a 
fir-tree,  where  we  could  not  be  seen  from  the  house. 

"Tell  me  the  truth,"  said  he  abruptly,  his  eyes 
fixed  piercingly  upon  mine,  "how  Tom  met  his 
death." 

After  a  moment's  confusion,  I  answered  : 

"  I  can  add  nothing  to  what  has  been  told  you, 
sir." 

He  looked  at  me  awhile  in  silence ;  then  said, 
with  a  sorrowful  frown  : 

"  I  make  no  doubt  you  are  tongue-tied  by  a  com 
pact.  But  you  need  not  fear  me.  The  British 
authorities  are  not  to  be  moved  by  any  complaint 


330  PHILIP   WINWOOD. 

of  mine.  My  object  is  not  to  procure  satisfaction 
for  my  son's  death.  I  merely  wish  to  know  whether 
he  took  it  upon  himself  to  revenge  our  calamities  ; 
and  whether  that  was  not  the  true  cause  of  his 
death." 

"  Why,  sir,"  I  said  awkwardly,  as  he  still  held  me  in 
a  searching  gaze  that  seemed  to  make  speech  impera 
tive,  "  how  should  you  think  that  ?  " 

"  From  several  things.  In  the  first  place,  I  know 
Tom  was  a  lad  of  mettle.  The  account  of  the  sup 
posed  attack  that  night,  has  it  that  Falconer  was  in 
your  party ;  he  was  one  of  those  who  returned  with 
you.  What  would  Tom  have  been  doing  in  Falcon 
er's  society,  when  not  under  orders,  after  what  had 
occurred  ?  Other  people,  who  know  nothing  of  that 
occurrence,  would  see  nothing  strange  in  their  being 
together.  But  I  would  swear  the  boy  was  not  so 
lost  to  honourable  feeling  as  to  have  been  Falconer's 
companion  after  what  had  taken  place  here." 

"  'Twas  no  loss  of  honourable  feeling  that  made 
him  Falconer's  companion !  "  said  I,  impulsively. 

"Then,"  cried  he,  quickly,  with  eagerness  in  his 
voice,  "  'twas  to  fight  Falconer  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  say  that." 

"Thank  God,  then,  if  he  had  to  die,  'twas  not 
as  that  man's  friend,  but  his  antagonist !  My  poor, 
brave  Tom  !  My  noble  boy !  Oh,  would  I  had 
known  him  better  while  he  lived!" 


I  HEAR  AGAIN  FROM  WIN  WOOD.      331 

"  He  was  all  that  is  chivalrous  and  true,  sir." 

"  I  wanted  only  this  assurance.  I  felt  it  in  my 
heart.  Don't  fear  my  betraying  you  ;  I  understand 
how  these  affairs  have  to  be  managed  at  such  times. 
Alas,  if  I  had  but  known  in  time  to  prevent !  Well, 
well,  'tis  too  late  now.  But  there  is  one  person  I 
must  confide  this  to  —  Philip." 

"  But  I  haven't  told  you  anything,  sir." 

"  Quite  true ;  and  therefore  what  I  shall  confide 
to  Philip  will  not  be  of  your  telling.  He  will  be 
silent,  too.  We  shall  make  no  disclosures.  Falconer 
shall  receive  his  punishment  in  another  manner." 

"  He  shall,  sir,"  said  I,  with  a  positiveness  which, 
in  his  feeling  of  sorrow,  and  yet  relief,  to  know  that 
Tom  had  died  as  champion  of  the  family  honour, 
escaped  his  notice.  I  thereupon  took  my  leave. 

As  I  afterward  came  to  know,  he  sent  Philip  an 
account  of  the  whole  lamentable  affair,  from  Ned's 
reappearance  to  Tom's  death  ;  it  was  written  in  a 
cipher  agreed  upon  between  the  two,  and  'twas  car 
ried  by  Bill  Meadows.  Mr.  Faringfield  deemed  it 
better  that  Philip  should  know  the  whole  truth  from 
his  relation,  than  learn  of  Madge's  departure,  and 
Tom's  fate,  from  other  accounts,  which  must  soon 
reach  his  ears  in  any  case. 

I  know  not  exactly  how  many  days  later  it  was, 
that,  having  a  free  evening  in  the  town,  I  went  to 
the  Faringfield  house  in  hope  of  bearing  some  cheer 


332  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

with  me.  But  'twas  in  vain.  Mrs.  Faringfield  was 
keeping  her  chamber,  and  requiring  Fanny's  attend 
ance.  Mr.  Faringfield  sat  in  a  painful  reverie,  before 
the  parlour  fire ;  scarce  looked  up  when  I  entered ; 
and  seemed  to  find  the  lively  spirits  I  brought  in 
from  the  cold  outer  world,  a  jarring  note  upon  his 
mood.  He  had  not  ordered  candles :  the  firelight 
was  more  congenial  to  his  meditations.  Mr.  Corne 
lius  sat  in  a  dark  corner  of  the  room,  lending  his 
silent  sympathy,  and  perhaps  a  fitting  word  now  and 
then,  to  the  merchant's  reflections. 

Old  Noah,  the  only  servant  I  saw,  reflected  in  his 
black  face  the  sorrow  that  had  fallen  on  the  home, 
and  stepped  with  the  tread  of  a  ghost.  I  soon  took 
my  leave,  having  so  far  failed  to  carry  any  brightness 
into  the  stricken  house,  that  I  came  away  filled  with 
a  sadness  akin  to  its  own.  I  walked  forward  aim 
lessly  through  the  wintry  dusk,  thinking  life  all  sor 
row,  the  world  all  gloom. 

Suddenly  the  sound  of  laughter  struck  my  ears. 
Could  there  indeed  be  mirth  anywhere  —  nay,  so 
near  at  hand  —  while  such  woe  dwelt  in  the  house 
I  had  left  ?  The  merriment  seemed  a  violence,  a 
sacrilege,  an  insult.  I  looked  angrily  at  the  place 
whence  the  noise  proceeded.  'Twas  from  the  par 
lour  of  the  King's  Arms  tavern  —  for,  in  my  doleful 
ponderings,  my  feet  had  carried  me,  scarce  con 
sciously,  so  far  from  Queen  Street.  I  peered  in 


I  HEAR  AGAIN  FROM    WINWOOD.  333 

through  the  lighted  window.  A  number  of  officers 
were  drinking,  after  dinner,  at  a  large  table,  and 
'twas  the  noise  of  their  boisterous  gaiety  that  my 
unhappy  feelings  had  so  swiftly  resented. 

While  the  merry  fellows  dipped  their  punch  from 
the  great  bowl  steaming  in  the  centre  of  the  table, 
and  laughed  uproariously  at  the  story  one  was  tell 
ing,  I  beheld  in  sharp  contrast  this  jocund  scene  and 
the  sad  one  I  had  so  recently  looked  upon.  And, 
coming  to  observe  particulars,  I  suddenly  noticed 
that  the  cause  of  all  this  laughter,  himself  smiling 
in  appreciation  of  his  own  story  as  he  told  it,  his 
face  the  picture  of  well-bred  light-hearted  mirth,  was 
Captain  Falconer.  And  he  was  the  cause  of  the 
other  scene,  the  sorrow  that  abode  in  the  house  I 
loved  !  The  thought  turned  me  to  fire.  I  uttered 
a  curse,  and  strode  into  the  tavern ;  rudely  flung 
open  the  parlour  door,  and  stood  in  the  presence  of 
the  laughing  officers. 

Falconer  himself  was  the  first  to  recognise  me, 
though  all  had  turned  to  see  who  made  so  violent 
an  entrance. 

"  Why,  Russell,"  cried  he,  showing  not  a  whit  of 
ill-humour  at  the  interruption  to  his  story,  "  this  is  a 
pleasure,  by  George !  I  haven't  seen  you  in  weeks. 
Find  a  place,  and  dive  into  the  punch.  Ensign  Rus 
sell,  gentlemen  —  if  any  of  you  haven't  the  honour 
already  —  and  my  very  good  friend,  too  !  " 


334  PHILIP  WIN  WOOD. 

"Ensign  Russell,"  I  assented,  "but  not  your 
friend,  Captain  Falconer.  I  desire  no  friends  of 
your  breed  ;  and  I  came  in  here  for  the  purpose 
of  telling  you  so,  damn  you  !  " 

Falconer's  companions  were  amazed,  of  course ; 
and  some  of  them  looked  resentful  and  outraged,  on 
his  behalf.  But  the  captain  himself,  with  very  little 
show  of  astonishment,  continued  his  friendly  smile 
to  me. 

"  Well  acted,  Russell,"  said  he,  in  a  tone  so  pleas 
ant  I  had  to  tighten  my  grip  upon  my  resolution. 
"  On  my  conscience,  anybody  who  didn't  know  us 
would  never  see  your  joke." 

"  Nor  would  anybody  who  did  know  us,"  I  retorted. 
"  If  an  affront  before  all  this  company,  purposely 
offered,  be  a  joke,  then  laugh  at  this  one.  But  a 
man  of  spirit  would  take  it  otherwise." 

"  Sure  the  fellow  means  to  insult  you,  Jack,"  said 
one  of  the  officers  to  Falconer. 

"Thank  you,"  said  I  to  the  officer. 

"  Why,  Bert,"  said  the  captain,  quickly,  "you  must 
be  under  some  delusion.  Have  you  been  drinking 
too  much  ? " 

"  Not  a  drop,"  I  replied.  "  I  needn't  be  drunk,  to 
know  a  scoundrel.  Come,  sir,  will  you  soon  take 
offence  ?  How  far  must  I  go  ?  " 

"  By  all  that's  holy,  Jack,"  cried  one  of  his  friends, 
"if  you  don't  knock  him  down,  I  shall  1 " 


/  HEAR  AGAIN  FROM  WIN  WOOD.      335 

"Ay,  he  ought  to  have  his  throat  slit !  "  called  out 
another. 

"  Nay,  nay !  "  said  Falconer,  stopping  with  a  ges 
ture  a  general  rising  from  the  table.  "  There  is  some 
mistake  here.  I  will  talk  with  the  gentleman  alone. 
After  you,  sir."  And,  having  approached  me,  he 
waited  with  great  civility,  for  me  to  precede  him  out 
of  the  door.  I  accepted  promptly,  being  in  no  mood 
to  waste  time  in  a  contest  of  politeness. 

"  Now,  lad,  what  in  the  name  of  heaven  —  "  he 
began,  in  the  most  gentle,  indulgent  manner,  as  we 
stood  alone  in  the  passage. 

"  For  God's  sake,"  I  blurted  irritably,  "  be  like 
your  countrymen  in  there  :  be  sneering,  resentful, 
supercilious  !  Don't  be  so  cursed  amiable  —  don't 
make  it  so  hard  for  me  to  do  this  !  " 

"  I  supercilious  !  And  to  thee,  lad  !  "  he  replied, 
with  a  reproachful  smile. 

"  Show  your  inward  self,  then.  I  know  how  self 
ish  you  are,  how  unscrupulous  !  You  like  people 
for  their  good  company,  and  their  admiration  of  you, 
their  attachment  to  you.  But  you  would  trample 
over  any  one,  without  a  qualm,  to  get  at  your  own 
pleasure  or  enrichment,  or  to  gratify  your  vanity." 

He  meditated  for  a  moment  upon  my  words. 
Then  he  said,  good-naturedly  : 

"  Why,  you  hit  me  off  to  perfection,  I  think.  And 
yet,  my  liking  for  some  people  is  real,  too.  I  would 


336  PHILIP  WINWOOD. 

do  much  for  those  I  like  —  if  it  cost  not  too  many 
pains,  and  required  no  sacrifice  of  pleasure.  For 
you,  indeed,  I  would  do  a  great  deal,  upon  my 
honour ! " 

"Then  do  this,"  quoth  I,  fighting  against  the 
ingratiating  charm  he  exercised.  "  Grant  me  a  meet 
ing —  swords  or  pistols,  I  don't  care  which —  and  the 
sooner  the  better." 

"  But  why  ?     At  least  I  may  know  the  cause." 

"  The  blight  you  have  brought  on  those  I  love  — 
but  that's  a  cause  must  be  kept  secret  between  us." 

"  Must  I  fight  twice  on  the  same  score,  then  ? " 

"  Why  not  ?  You  fared  well  enough  the  first  time. 
Tom  fought  on  his  family's  behalf.  I  fight  on  behalf 
of  my  friend  —  Captain  Winwood.  Besides,  haven't 
I  given  you  cause  to-night,  before  your  friends  in 
there  ?  If  I  was  in  the  wrong  there,  so  much  the 
greater  my  offence.  Come  —  will  you  take  up  the 
quarrel  as  it  is  ?  Or  must  I  give  new  provocation  ? " 

He  sighed  like  a  man  who  finds  himself  drawn  into 
a  business  he  would  have  considerately  avoided. 

"Well,  well,"  said  he,  "I  can  refuse  you  nothing. 
We  can  manage  the  affair  as  we  did  the  other,  I 
fancy.  It  must  be  a  secret,  of  course  —  even  from 
my  friends  in  there.  I  shall  tell  them  we  have 
settled  our  difference,  and  let  them  imagine  what 
they  please  to.  I'll  send  some  one  to  you  —  that 
arrangement  will  give  you  the  choice  of  weapons." 


/  HEAR   AGAIN  FROM   WINWOOD.  337 

"Tis  indifferent  to  me." 

"To  me  also.  But  I  prefer  you  should  have  that 
privilege.  I  entreat  you  will  choose  the  weapons 
you  are  best  at." 

"  Thank  you.  I  shall  expect  to  hear  from  you, 
then.  Good-night !  " 

"  Good-night !  'Tis  a  foggy  evening.  I  wish  you 
might  come  in  and  warm  yourself  with  a  glass  before 
you  go  ;  but  of  course  —  well,  good-night !  " 

I  went  out  into  the  damp  darkness,  thanking 
heaven  the  matter  was  settled  beyond  undoing ;  and 
marvelling  that  exceptional,  favoured  people  should 
exist,  who,  thanks  to  some  happy  combination  of 
superficial  graces,  remain  irresistibly  likable  despite 
all  exposure  of  the  selfish  vices  they  possess  at 
heart. 

But  if  my  prospective  opponent  was  one  who 
could  not  be  faced  antagonistically  without  a  severe 
effort,  the  second  whom  he  chose  was  one  against 
whose  side  I  could  fight  with  the  utmost  readiness, 
thanks  to  the  irritating  power  he  possessed  upon  me. 
He  was  Lieutenant  Chubb,  whom  I  had  worsted  in 
the  affair  to  which  I  have  alluded  earlier,  which  grew 
out  of  his  assumption  of  superiority  to  us  who  were 
of  American  birth.  I  had  subjected  this  cock  to 
such  deference  in  my  presence,  that  he  now  rejoiced 
at  what  promised  to  be  my  defeat,  and  his  revenge 
by  proxy,  so  great  reliance  he  placed  upon  Captain 


338  PHILIP  WIN  WOOD. 

Falconer's  skill  with  either  sword  or  pistol.  I  chose 
the  latter  weapon,  however,  without  much  perturba 
tion,  inwardly  resolved  that  the  gloating  Chubb 
should  so  far  fail  of  his  triumph,  as  to  suffer  a 
second  humiliation  in  the  defeat  of  his  principal. 
For  my  own  second,  Lieutenant  Berrian,  of  our 
brigade,  did  me  the  honour  to  go  out  with  me.  A 
young  New  York  surgeon,  Doctor  Williams,  obliged 
us  by  assuming  the  risk  which  it  would  have  been 
too  much  to  ask  Doctor  McLaughlin  to  undertake  a 
second  time.  At  my  desire,  the  place  and  hour  set 
were  those  at  which  Tom  Faringfield  had  met  his 
death.  I  felt  that  the  memory  of  his  dying  face 
would  be  strongest,  there  and  then,  to  make  my  arm 
and  sight  quick  and  sure. 

A  thaw  had  carried  away  much  of  the  snow,  and 
hence  we  had  it  not  as  light  as  it  had  been  for  Tom's 
duel ;  although  the  moon  made  our  outlines  and 
features  perfectly  distinct  as  we  assembled  in  the 
hollow,  and  it  would  make  our  pistol-barrels  shine 
brightly  enough  when  the  time  came,  as  I  ascertained 
by  taking  aim  at  an  imaginary  mark. 

Falconer  and  I  stood  each  alone,  while  the  seconds 
stepped  off  the  paces  and  the  surgeon  lighted  a 
small  lantern  which  might  enable  him  to  throw, 
upon  a  possible  wound,  rays  more  to  the  purpose 
than  the  moon  afforded.  I  was  less  agitated,  I 
think,  than  the  doctor  himself,  who  w^s  new  to  such 


I  HEAR  AGAIN  FROM   WINWOOD.  339 

an  affair.  I  kept  my  mind  upon  the  change  wrought 
in  the  Faringfield  household,  upon  the  fate  of  Tom, 
upon  what  I  imagined  would  be  Philip's  feelings ; 
and  I  had  a  thought,  too,  for  the  disappointment  of 
my  old  enemy  Chubb  if  I  could  cap  the  firing  signal 
with  a  shot  the  fraction  of  a  second  before  my  antag 
onist  could.  We  were  to  stand  with  our  backs 
toward  each  other,  at  the  full  distance,  and,  upon 
the  word,  might  turn  and  fire  as  soon  as  possible. 
To  be  the  first  in  wheeling  round  upon  a  heel,  and 
covering  the  foe,  was  my  one  concern,  and,  as  I  took 
my  place,  I  dismissed  all  else  from  my  mind,  to  de 
vote  my  entire  self,  bodily  and  mental,  to  that  one 
series  of  movements  :  all  else  but  one  single  impres 
sion,  and  that  was  of  malicious  exultation  upon  the 
face  of  Chubb. 

"  You'll  smile  on  t'other  side  of  your  face  in  a 
minute,"  thought  I,  pressing  my  teeth  together. 

I  was  giving  my  hand  its  final  adjustment  to  the 
pistol,  when  suddenly  a  man  dashed  out  of  the  covert 
at  one  side  of  the  hollow,  and  ran  toward  us,  calling 
out  in  a  gruff  voice  : 

"  Hold  on  a  minute.  Here's  su'thin'  fur  you, 
Ensign  Russell." 

We  had  all  turned  at  the  first  sound  of  the  man's 
tread,  fearing  we  had  been  spied  upon  and  discovered. 
But  I  now  knew  there  was  no  danger  of  that  kind, 
for  the  voice  belonged  to  old  Bill  Meadows. 


34O  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  I  asked  sharply,  annoyed 
at  the  interruption. 

"Nothin'.  Read  this  here.  I've  follered  yuh  all 
evenin',  thinkin'  to  ketch  yuh  alone.  I  gev  my  word 
to  get  it  to  yuh,  fust  thing ;  an'  fur  my  own  sake,  I 
tried  to  do  it  unbeknownst.  But  now  I  must  do  it 
anyhow  I  ken.  So  take  it,  an'  my  compliments,  an' 
I  trust  yuh  to  keep  mum  an'  ask  no  questions,  an' 
furget  'twas  me  brung  it.  And  I'll  keep  a  shet 
mouth  about  these  here  goings  on.  Only  read  it 
now,  fur  God's  sake." 

He  had  handed  me  a  sealed  letter.  My  curiosity 
being  much  excited,  I  turned  to  Falconer,  and  said  : 

"  Will  you  grant  me  permission  ?  'Twill  take  but 
a  moment." 

"Certainly,"  said  he. 

"  Ay,"  added  Chubb,  against  all  the  etiquette  of 
the  situation,  "  it  can  be  allowed,  as  you're  not  like 
to  read  any  more  letters." 

I  tore  it  open,  disdaining  to  reply  in  words  to  a 
gratuitous  taunt  I  could  soon  answer  by  deed.  The 
doctor  having  handed  me  his  lantern,  I  held  it  in  one 
hand,  the  letter  in  the  other.  The  writing  was  that 
of  Philip  Winwood,  and  the  letter  read  as  follows  : 

"  DEAR  BERT  :  —  I  have  learned  what  sad  things 
have  befallen.  You  will  easily  guess  my  informant ; 
but  I  know  you  will  not  use  your  knowledge  of  my 


/  HEAR   AGAIN  FROM   WINWOOD.  341 

communication  therewith,  to  the  detriment  thereof. 
And  I  am  sure  that,  since  I  ask  it,  you  will  not 
betray  (or,  by  any  act  or  disclosure,  imperil  or 
hamper)  the  messenger  who  brings  this  at  risk  of 
his  life  ;  for  the  matter  is  a  private  one. 

"  Pondering  upon  all  that  has  occurred,  I  am  put 
in  a  fear  of  your  forgetting  whose  right  it  is  to 
avenge  it,  and  of  your  taking  that  duty  to  yourself, 
which  belongs  by  every  consideration  to  me.  This 
is  to  beg,  therefore,  that  you  will  not  forestall  me ; 
that  while  I  live  you  will  leave  this  matter  to  me,  at 
whatsoever  cost  though  it  be  to  your  pride  and  your 
impatience.  Dear  Bert,  I  enjoin  you,  do  not  usurp 
my  prerogative.  By  all  the  ties  between  us,  past  and 
to  come,  I  demand  this  of  you.  The  man  is  mine  to 
kill.  Let  him  wait  my  time,  and  I  shall  be  the  more, 
what  I  long  have  been,  Ever  thine, 

"PHILIP." 

I  thought  over  it  for  a  full  minute.  He  asked  of 
me  a  grievous  disappointment ;  nay,  something  of  a 
humiliation,  too,  so  highly  had  I  carried  myself,  so  tri 
umphant  had  my  enemy  Chubb  become  in  anticipation, 
so  derisive  would  he  be  in  case  of  my  withdrawal. 

If  I  receded,  Chubb  would  have  ground  to  think  the 
message  a  device  to  get  me  out  of  a  peril  at  the  last 
moment,  after  I  had  pretended  to  face  it  so  intrepidly 
thereunto.  For  I  could  not  say  what  my  letter 


342  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

contained,  or  who  it  was  from,  without  betraying 
Meadows  and  perhaps  Mr.  Faringfield,  which  both 
Philip's  injunction  and  my  own  will  prohibited  my 
doing.  Thus,  I  hesitated  awhile  before  yielding  to 
Philip  what  he  claimed  so  rightly  as  his  own.  But  I 
am  glad  I  had  the  courage  to  face  Chubb's  probable 
suspicions  and  possible  contempt. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  I,  folding  up  the  letter  for  con 
cealment  and  preservation,  "  I  am  very  sorry  to  have 
brought  you  out  here  for  nothing.  I  must  make 
some  other  kind  of  reparation  to  you,  Captain 
Falconer.  I  can't  fight  you." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause  ;  during  which  Lieuten 
ant  Chubb  looked  from  me  to  his  principal,  with  a  mirth 
ful  grin,  as  much  as  to  say  I  was  a  proven  coward  after 
all  my  swagger.  But  the  captain  merely  replied  : 

"  Oh,  let  the  matter  rest  as  it  is,  then.  I'm  sorry 
I  had  to  disappoint  a  lady,  to  come  out  here  on  a 
fool's  errand,  that's  all." 

He  made  that  speech  with  intention,  I'm  sure,  by 
way  of  revenge  upon  me,  though  doubtless  'twas  true 
enough  ;  for  he  must  have  known  how  it  would  sting 
a  man  who  thought  kindly  of  Madge  Faringfield.  It 
was  the  first  cutting  thing  I  had  ever  heard  him  say ; 
it  showed  that  he  was  no  longer  unwilling  to  antago 
nise  me  ;  it  proved  that  he,  too,  could  throw  off  the 
gentleman  when  he  chose :  and  it  made  him  no 
longer  difficult  for  me  to  hate. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

Philip  Comes  at  Last  to  London. 

A  HUMAN  life  will  drone  along  uneventfully  for 
years  with  scarce  a  perceptible  progress,  retrogres 
sion,  or  change  ;  and  then  suddenly,  with  a  few  leaps, 
will  cover  more  of  alteration  and  event  in  a  week  than 
it  has  passed  through  in  a  decade.  So  will  the  criti 
cal  occurrences  of  a  day  fill  chapters,  after  those  of  a 
year  have  failed  to  yield  more  material  than  will  eke 
out  a  paragraph.  Experience  proceeds  by  fits  and 
starts.  Only  in  fiction  does  a  career  run  in  an  un 
broken  line  of  adventures  or  memorable  incidents. 

The  personal  life  of  Philip  Winwood,  as  distin 
guished  from  his  military  career,  which  had  no 
difference  from  that  of  other  commanders  of  rebel 
partisan  horse,  and  which  needs  no  record  at  my 
hands,  was  marked  by  no  conspicuous  event  from 
the  night  when  he  learned  and  defeated  Madge's 
plot,  to  the  end  of  the  war.  The  news  of  her 
departure,  and  of  Tom's  death,  came  to  him  with 
a  fresh  shock,  it  is  true,  but  they  only  settled  him 

343 


344  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

deeper  in  the  groove  of  sorrow,  and  in  the  resolution 
to  pay  full  retribution  where  it  was  due. 

He  had  no  pusillanimous  notion  of  the  unworthi- 
ness  of  revenge.  He  believed  retaliation,  when  com 
plete  and  inflicted  without  cost  or  injury  to  the  giver, 
to  be  a  most  logical  and  fitting  thing.  But  he  knew 
that  revenge  is  a  two-edged  weapon,  and  that  it  must 
be  wielded  carefully,  so  as  not  to  cause  self -damage. 
He  required,  too,  that  it  should  be  wielded  in  open 
and  honourable  manner ;  and  in  that  manner  he  was 
resolved  to  use  it  upon  Captain  Falconer.  As  for 
Madge,  I  believe  he  forgave  her  from  the  first,  hold 
ing  her  "more  in  sorrow  than  in  anger,"  and  pitying 
rather  than  reproaching. 

Well,  he  served  throughout  the  war,  keeping  his 
sorrow  to  himself,  being  known  always  for  a  quietly 
cheerful  mien,  giving  and  taking  hard  blows,  and 
always  yielding  way  to  others  in  the  pressure  for 
promotion.  Such  was  the  state  of  affairs  in  the  rebel 
army,  that  his  willingness  to  defer  his  claims  for 
advancement,  when  there  were  restless  and  ambitious 
spirits  to  be  conciliated  and  so  kept  in  the  service, 
was  availed  of  for  the  sake  of  expediency.  But  he 
went  not  without  appreciation.  On  one  occasion, 
when  a  discontented  but  useful  Pennsylvanian  was 
pacified  with  a  colonelcy,  General  Washington  re 
marked  to  Light  Horse  Harry  Lee  :  "  And  yet  you 
are  but  a  major,  and  Win  wood  remains  a  captain ; 


PHILIP   COMES  AT  LAST  TO  LONDON.       345 

but  let  me  tell  you,  there  is  less  honour  in  the  titles 
of  general  and  colonel,  as  borne  by  many,  than  there 
is  in  the  mere  names  of  Major  Lee  and  Captain 
Winwood." 

When  Lee's  troop  was  sent  to  participate  in  the 
Southern  campaign,  Philip's  accompanied  it,  and  he 
had  hard  campaigning  under  Greene,  which  continued 
against  our  Southernmost  forces  until  long  after  the 
time  of  the  capitulation  of  Lord  Cornwallis's  army 
at  Yorktown,  to  the  combined  rebel  and  French 
armies  under  Washington.  It  happened  that  our 
battalion,  wherein  I  was  promoted  to  a  lieutenantcy 
shortly  after  my  abortive  meeting  with  Captain  Fal 
coner  near  Kingsbridge,  went  South  by  sea  for  the 
fighting  there,  being  the  only  one  of  De  Lancey's 
battalions  that  left  the  vicinity  of  New  York.  We 
had  bloody  work  enough  then  to  balance  our  idleness 
in  the  years  we  had  covered  outposts  above  New 
York,  and  'twas  but  a  small  fraction  of  our  number 
that  came  home  alive  at  last.  I  never  met  Philip 
while  we  were  both  in  the  South,  nor  saw  him  till 
the  war  was  over. 

Shiploads  of  our  New  York  loyalists  left,  after 
Cornwallis's  defeat  at  Yorktown  showed  what  the 
end  was  to  be ;  some  of  them  going  to  England 
but  many  of  them  sailing  to  Nova  Scotia  and  New 
Brunswick,  there  to  begin  afresh  the  toiling  with  the 
wilderness,  and  to  build  up  new  English  colonies 


346  PHILIP  WIN  WOOD. 

in  North  America.  Others  contrived  to  make  their 
way  by  land  to  Canada,  which  thereby  owes  its  Eng 
lish  population  mainly  to  those  who  fled  from  the 
independent  states  rather  than  give  up  their  loyalty 
to  the  mother  country.  The  government  set  up 
by  the  victorious  rebels  had  taken  away  the  lands 
and  homes  of  the  loyalists,  by  acts  of  attainder,  and 
any  who  remained  in  the  country  did  so  at  the  risk 
of  life  or  liberty.  What  a  time  of  sad  leave-taking 
it  was  !  —  families  going  forth  poor  to  a  strange  land, 
who  had  lived  rich  in  that  of  their  birth  —  what  losses, 
what  wrenches,  what  heart-rendings  !  And  how  little 
compensation  England  could  give  them,  notwithstand 
ing  all  their  claims  and  petitions  !  Well,  they  would 
deserve  little  credit  for  their  loyalty  if  they  had  fol 
lowed  it  without  willingness  to  lose  for  it. 

But  my  mother  and  I  had  possessed  nothing  to 
lose  in  America  but  our  house  and  ground,  our 
money  being  in  the  English  funds.  Fortunately, 
and  thanks  to  our  insignificance,  we  had  been  over 
looked  in  the  first  act  of  attainder,  and,  taking  warning 
by  that,  my  mother  had  gratefully  accepted  Mr.  Far- 
ingfield's  offer  to  buy  our  home,  for  which  we  had 
thereafter  paid  him  rent.  Thus  we  had  nothing 
to  confiscate,  when  the  war  was  over.  As  for  Mr. 
Faringfield,  he  was  on  the  triumphant  side  of  Inde 
pendence,  which  he  had  supported  with  secret  con 
tributions  from  the  first ;  of  course  he  was  not  to 


PHILIP   COMES  AT  LAST  TO   LONDON.        347 

be  held  accountable  for  the  treason  of  his  eldest  son, 
and  the  open  service  of  poor  Tom  on  the  king's 
side. 

My  mother  feared  dreadful  things  when  the  victo 
rious  rebels  should  take  possession  —  imprisonment, 
trial  for  treason,  and  similar  horrors  ;  and  she  was  for 
sailing  to  England  with  the  British  army.  But  I  flatly 
refused  to  go,  pretending  I  was  no  such  coward,  and 
that  I  would  leave  when  I  was  quite  ready.  I  was 
selfish  in  this,  of  course ;  but  I  could  not  bring  my 
self  to  go  so  far  from  Fanny.  Our  union  was  still  as 
uncertain  a  possibility  as  ever.  Only  one  thing  was 
sure  :  she  would  not  leave  her  parents  at  present. 

The  close  of  the  war  did  not  bring  Philip  back  to 
us  at  once.  On  that  day  when,  the  last  of  the  British 
vessels  having  gone  down  the  bay,  with  the  last 
British  soldier  aboard,  the  strangely  empty-looking 
town  took  on  a  holiday  humour,  and  General  Wash 
ington  rode  in  by  the  Bowery  lane,  with  a  number 
of  his  officers,  and  a  few  war-worn  troops  to  make 
up  a  kind  of  procession  of  entry,  and  the  stars  and 
stripes  were  run  up  at  the  Battery  —  on  that  day  of 
sadness,  humiliation,  and  apprehension  to  those  of  us 
loyalists  who  had  dared  stay,  I  would  have  felt  like 
cheering  with  the  crowd,  had  Philip  been  one  of  those 
who  entered.  But  he  was  still  in  the  South,  recover 
ing  from  a  bullet  wound  in  his  shoulder. 

My  mother  and  I  were  thereafter  the  recipients  of 


348  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

ominous  looks,  and  some  uncomfortable  hints  and 
jeers,  and  our  life  was  made  constantly  unpleasant 
thereby.  The  sneers  cast  by  one  Major  Wheeler 
upon  us  loyalists,  and  upon  our  reasons  for  standing 
by  the  king,  got  me  into  a  duel  with  him  at  Wee- 
hawken,  wherein  I  gave  him  the  only  wound  he 
ever  received  through  his  attachment  to  the  cause 
of  Independence.  Another  such  affair,  which  I  had 
a  short  time  afterward,  near  the  Bowery  lane,  and 
in  which  I  shot  a  Captain  Appleby's  ear  off,  was  attrib 
uted  by  my  mother  to  the  same  cause ;  but  the  real 
reason  was  that  the  fellow  had  uttered  an  atrocious 
slander  of  Philip  Winwood  in  connection  with  the 
departure  of  Phil's  wife.  This  was  but  one  of 
the  many  lies,  on  both  sides  of  the  ocean,  that  moved 
me  at  last  to  attempt  a  true  account  of  my  friend's 
domestic  trouble. 

My  mother  foresaw  my  continual  engagement  in 
such  affairs  if  we  remained  in  a  place  where  we  were 
subject  to  constant  offence,  and  declared  she  would 
become  distracted  unless  we  removed  ourselves.  I 
resisted  until  she  vowed  she  would  go  alone,  if  I  drove 
her  to  that.  And  then  I  yielded,  with  a  heart  en 
veloped  in  a  dark  mist  as  to  the  outcome.  Well,  I 
thought  with  a  sigh,  I  can  always  write  to  Fanny, 
and  some  day  I  shall  come  back  for  her. 

It  was  now  Summer.  One  evening,  I  sat  upon  our 
front  step,  in  a  kind  of  torpid  state  of  mind  through 


PHILIP   COMES  AT  LAST   TO  LONDON.        349 

my  refusal  to  contemplate  the  dismal  future.  My  eye 
turned  listlessly  down  the  street.  The  only  moving 
figure  in  it  was  that  of  a  slender  man  approaching  on 
the  further  side  of  the  way.  He  carried  two  valises, 
one  with  each  hand,  and  leaned  a  little  forward  as  he 
strode,  as  if  weary.  Instantly  I  thought  of  years 
ago,  and  another  figure  coming  up  that  street,  with 
both  hands  laden,  and  walking  in  a  manner  of  fatigue. 
I  rose,  gazed  with  a  fast-beating  heart  at  the  man 
coming  nearer  at  every  step,  stifled  a  cry  that  turned 
into  a  sob,  and  ran  across  the  street.  He  saw  me, 
stopped,  set  down  his  burdens,  and  waited  for  me, 
with  a  tired,  kind  smile.  I  could  not  speak  aloud, 
but  threw  my  arms  around  him,  and  buried  my 
clouded  eyes  upon  his  shoulder,  whispering  :  "  Phil ! 
Tis  you!" 

"Ay,"  said  he,  "back  at  last.  I  thought  I'd  walk 
up  from  the  boat  just  as  I  did  that  first  day  I  came 
to  New  York." 

"  And  just  as  then,"  said  I,  having  raised  my  face 
and  released  him,  "  I  was  on  the  step  yonder,  and  saw 
you  coming,  and  noticed  that  you  carried  baggage  in 
each  hand,  and  that  you  walked  as  if  you  were  tired." 

"I  am  tired,"  said  he,  "but  I  walk  as  my  wounds 
let  me." 

"But  there's  no  cat  this  time,"  said  I,  attempting 
a  smile. 

"No,  there's  no  cat,"  he  replied.     "And  no  — " 


350  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

His  eye  turned  toward  the  Faringfield  garden  gate, 
and  he  broke  off  with  the  question  :  "  How  are  they  ? 
and  your  mother  ?  " 

I  told  him  what  I  could,  as  I  picked  up  one  of  his 
valises  and  accompanied  him  across  the  street,  think 
ing  how  I  had  done  a  similar  office  on  the  former 
occasion,  and  of  the  pretty  girl  that  had  made  the 
scene  so  bright  to  both  him  and  me.  Alas,  there  was 
no  pretty  girl  standing  at  the  gate,  beside  her  proud 
and  stately  parents,  and  her  open-eyed  little  brother, 
to  receive  us.  I  remembered  how  Ned  and  Fanny 
had  come  upon  the  scene,  so  that  for  a  moment  the 
whole  family  had  stood  together  at  the  gateway. 

"  'Tis  changed,  isn't  it  ?  "  said  Philip,  quietly,  read 
ing  my  thoughts  as  we  passed  down  the  garden  walk, 
upon  which  way  of  entrance  we  had  tacitly  agreed  in 
preference  to  the  front  door.  "  I  can  see  the  big 
dog  walking  ahead  of  me,  and  hear  the  kitten  purring 
in  the  basket,  and  feel  little  Tom's  soft  hand,  and  see 
at  the  other  side  of  me  —  well,  'tis  the  way  of  the 
world,  Bert !  " 

He  had  the  same  boyish  look  ;  notwithstanding  his 
face  was  longer  and  more  careworn,  and  his  hair  was  a 
little  sprinkled  with  gray  though  he  was  but  thirty-one. 

I  left  him  on  the  rear  veranda,  when  old  Noah 
had  opened  the  hall  door  and  shouted  a  hysterical 
"Lor'  bress  me!  —  it's  Massa  Phil!"  after  a  mo 
ment's  blinking  inspection  to  make  sure.  From  the 


PHILIP   COMES  AT  LAST   TO   LONDON.        351 

cheered  look  on  Mr.  Faringfield's  face  that  evening, 
and  the  revived  lustre  in  Mrs.  Faringfield's  eyes,  I 
could  guess  what  welcome  Philip  had  received  from 
the  stricken  pair. 

I  told  him  the  next  day,  in  our  garden,  how  mat 
ters  stood  with  Fanny  and  me,  and  that  Captain 
Falconer  had  sailed  for  England  with  the  royal  army. 

"  I  don't  think  Mr.  Faringfield  will  hold  out  for 
ever,"  said  Philip,  alluding  to  my  hopes  of  Fanny. 
"  'Faith,  he  ought  to  welcome  the  certainty  of  happi 
ness  for  at  least  one  of  his  children.  Maybe  I  can 
put  the  matter  to  him  in  that  light." 

"  But  Fanny  herself  will  not  leave,  as  long  as  she 
thinks  they  need  her." 

"Why,  then,  he  must  use  his  parental  authority, 
and  bid  her  come  to  you.  He's  not  the  man  who 
would  have  his  child  wait  upon  his  death  for  happi 
ness.  We  must  use  the  hope  of  grandchildren  as  a 
means  of  argument.  For  you'll  come  back  to  America 
at  last,  no  doubt,  when  old  hurts  are  forgot.  And  if 
you  can  come  with  a  houseful  of  youngsters — egad, 
I  shall  paint  a  picture  to  his  mind,  will  not  let  him 
rest  till  he  sees  it  in  way  of  accomplishment !  Go  to 
England  without  fear,  man  ;  and  trust  me  to  bring 
things  to  pass  before  you've  been  long  away." 

"But  you?     Surely  —  " 

"  Oh,  I  shall  follow  you  soon.  I  have  matters  of 
my  own  to  look  to,  over  there." 


352  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

He  did  not  confide  to  me,  at  this  time,  his  thoughts 
and  intentions  regarding  his  wife  (of  whom  we  were 
then  ignorant  whether  she  was  dead  or  alive,  but  sup 
posed  she  must  be  somewhere  in  London),  or  regard 
ing  Captain  Falconer ;  but  I  knew  that  it  was  to  her 
future,  and  to  his  settlement  with  Falconer,  that  he  al 
luded.  I  guessed  then,  and  ascertained  subsequently, 
that  Phil  gave  Fanny  also  encouragement  to  believe 
all  should  come  right  between  her  and  me,  and  yet 
not  to  the  further  sorrow  of  her  parents.  I  divined 
it  at  the  time,  from  the  hopeful  manner  in  which  she 
supported  our  departure,  both  in  the  busy  days  pre 
ceding  it,  and  in  the  hour  of  leave-taking.  True, 
she  broke  down  on  the  ship,  whither  Philip  and 
Cornelius  had  brought  her  to  bid  us  farewell ;  and 
she  wept  bitter  tears  on  my  mother's  breast,  which 
I  knew  were  meant  chiefly  for  me.  But  at  last  she 
presented  a  brave  face  for  me  to  kiss,  though  'twas 
rather  a  cold,  limp  hand  I  pressed  as  she  started  down 
the  ladder  for  the  boat  where  Cornelius  awaited. 

"Good-bye,  lad,"  said  Phil,  with  the  old  smile, 
which  had  survived  all  his  toils  and  hurts  and 
sorrows ;  "  I  shall  see  you  in  London  next,  I  hope. 
And  trust  me  —  about  Fanny." 

"  Thank  you,  dear  Phil,  and  God  bless  you !  Al 
ways  working  for  other  people's  happiness,  when 
your  own  —  well,  good-bye  ! " 

He  had  made  no  request  as  to  my  course  in  the 


PHILIP   COMES  AT  LAST  TO  LONDON.       353 

possibility  of  my  meeting  Madge  in  London ;  but  he 
knew  that  /  knew  what  he  would  wish,  and  I  was 
glad  he  had  not  thought  necessary  to  tell  me. 

Philip  and  Cornelius  rowed  the  boat  back,  Fanny 
waving  her  handkerchief.  We  saw  them  land,  and 
stand  upon  the  wharf  to  watch  our  ship  weigh 
anchor.  My  mother  would  wave  her  handkerchief 
a  moment,  and  then  apply  it  to  her  eyes,  and  then 
give  it  another  little  toss,  and  then  her  eyes  another 
touch.  I  stood  beside  her,  leaning  upon  the  gun 
wale,  with  a  lump  in  my  throat.  Suddenly  I  realised 
we  were  under  way.  We  continued  to  exchange  fare 
well  motions  with  the  three  upon  the  wharf.  How 
small  Fanny  looked !  how  slender  was  Philip !  how 
the  water  widened  every  instant  between  us  and 
them  !  how  long  a  time  must  pass  ere  we  should 
see  them  again  !  A  kind  of  sudden  consternation 
was  upon  my  mother's  face,  and  in  my  heart,  at 
the  thought.  'Twas  a  foretaste  —  indeed  it  might 
prove  the  actuality  —  of  eternal  separation.  Our 
three  friends  were  at  last  hidden  from  our  sight, 
and  in  the  despondency  of  that  moment  I  thought 
what  fools  men  are,  to  travel  about  the  world,  and 
not  cling  all  their  days  to  the  people,  and  the 
places,  that  they  love. 

We  lodged  at  first  in  Surrey  Street,  upon  our 
arrival  in  London  ;  but  when  October  came,  and  we 


354  PHILIP  WINWOOD. 

had  a  preliminary  taste  of  dirty  fog,  my  mother 
vowed  she  couldn't  endure  the  damp  climate  and 
thick  sky  of  the  town  ;  and  so  we  moved  out  to 
Hampstead,  where  we  furnished  a  small  cottage, 
and  contrived  with  economy  to  live  upon  the  income 
of  our  invested  principal,  which  was  now  swelled  by 
money  we  had  received  from  Mr.  Faringfield  for 
our  home  in  New  York.  The  proceeds  of  the  sale 
of  our  furniture  there  had  paid  our  passage,  and 
given  us  a  start  in  our  new  abode.  Meanwhile, 
as  an  American  loyalist  who  had  suffered  by  the 
war,  and  as  a  former  servant  of  the  king ;  though 
I  had  no  claim  for  a  money  indemnity,  such  as  were 
presented  on  behalf  of  many  ;  I  was  lucky  enough, 
through  Mr.  De  Lancey's  offices,  to  obtain  a  small 
clerkship  in  the  custom-house.  And  so  we  lived 
uneventfully,  in  hope  of  the  day  when  Phil  should 
come  to  us,  and  of  that  when  I  might  go  and  bring 
back  Fanny. 

The  letters  from  Philip  and  Fanny  informed  us 
merely  of  the  continued  health,  and  the  revived 
cheerfulness,  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Faringfield ;  and 
presently  of  the  good  fortune  of  Mr.  Cornelius  in 
being  chosen  to  fill  two  pulpits  in  small  towns 
sufficiently  near  New  York  to  permit  his  residence 
in  Queen  Street.  Mr.  Faringfield  and  Philip  were 
occupied  in  setting  the  former's  business  upon  its 
feet  again,  and  something  like  the  old  routine  had 


PHILIP   COMES  AT  LAST   TO  LONDON.        355 

been  resumed  in  the  bereaved  house.  I  knew  that 
all  this  was  due  to  Phil's  imperceptible  work.  At 
last  there  came  great  news  :  Philip  was  to  follow  his 
letter  to  England,  in  the  next  Bristol  vessel  after  the 
one  that  carried  it.  'Twas  but  a  brief  note  in  which 
he  told  us  this.  "There  is  some  news,"  wrote  he, 
"  but  I  will  save  it  for  word  of  mouth.  Be  prepared 
for  a  surprise  that  I  shall  bring." 

With  what  expectation  we  awaited  his  coming, 
what  conjectures  we  made  regarding  the  promised 
surprise  as  we  talked  the  news  over  every  evening 
in  the  little  parlour  where  we  dined  on  my  return 
from  the  city,  I  leave  my  reader  to  imagine.  I 
had  my  secret  notion  that  it  concerned  Fanny  and 
me. 

At  the  earliest  time  when  a  ship  might  be  expected 
to  follow  the  one  by  which  the  letter  came,  I  began 
to  call  every  evening,  ere  starting  for  Hampstead,  at 
the  inn  where  the  Bristol  coaches  arrived.  Many  a 
long  wait  I  had  in  vain  when  a  coach  happened  to  be 
late.  I  grew  so  accustomed  to  the  disappointment  of 
seeing  no  familiar  figure  among  the  passengers  alight 
ing,  that  sometimes  I  felt  as  if  Phil's  letter  were  a 
delusion  and  he  never  would  appear. 

But  one  evening  as  I  stared  as  usual  with  the 
crowd  in  the  coach  yard,  and  had  watched  three 
portly  strangers  already  emerge  from  the  open  door 
to  the  steps,  and  was  prepared  for  the  accustomed 


356  PHILIP  WINWOOD. 

sinking  of  my  heart,  what  did  that  heart  do  but  give 
a  great  bound  so  as  almost  to  choke  me !  There  he 
was  in  the  doorway,  the  same  old  Phil,  with  the  same 
kindly  face.  I  rushed  forward.  Before  I  reached 
him,  he  had  turned  around  toward  the  inside  of  the 
coach,  as  if  he  would  help  some  one  out  after  him. 
"  Some  decrepit  fellow  traveller,"  thought  I,  and 
looked  up  indifferently  to  see  what  sort  of  person 
it  might  be  :  and  there,  as  I  live,  stepping  out  from 
the  coach,  and  taking  his  offered  hand,  was  Fanny ! 

I  was  at  her  other  side  before  either  of  them  knew 
it,  holding  up  my  hand  likewise.  They  glanced  at 
me  in  the  same  instant ;  and  Phil's  glad  smile  came 
as  the  accompaniment  to  Fanny's  joyous  little  cry. 
I  had  an  arm  around  each  in  a  moment ;  and  we 
created  some  proper  indignation  for  a  short  space  by 
blocking  up  the  way  from  the  stage-coach. 

"  Come  !  "  I  cried.  "  We'll  take  a  hackney-cpach  ! 
How  happy  mother  will  be !  —  But  no,  you  must 
be  hungry.  Will  you  eat  here  first  ?  —  a  cup  of 
coffee  ?  a  glass  of  wine  ? " 

But  they  insisted  upon  waiting  till  we  got  to 
Hampstead ;  and,  scarce  knowing  what  I  was  about, 
yet  accomplishing  wonders  in  my  excitement,  I  had 
a  coach  ready,  and  their  trunks  and  bags  trans 
ferred,  and  all  of  us  in  the  coach,  before  I  stopped 
to  breathe.  And  before  I  could  breathe  twice,  it 
seemed,  we  were  rolling  over  the  stones  Northward. 


PHILIP   COMES  AT  LAST  TO  LONDON.        357 

"Sure  it's  a  dream!"  said  I.  "To  think  of  it! 
Fanny  in  London  !  " 

"  My  father  would  have  it  so,"  said  she,  demurely. 

"Ay,"  added  Phil,  "and  she's  forbidden  to  go 
back  to  New  York  till  she  takes  you  with  her. 
'Faith,  man,  am  I  not  a  prophet?" 

"  You're  more  than  a  prophet ;  you're  a  provi 
dence,"  I  cried.  "  Tis  your  doing !  " 

"Nonsense.  'Tis  Mr.  Faringfield's.  And  that 
implacable  man,  not  content  with  forcing  an  uncon 
genial  marriage  upon  this  helpless  damsel,  requires 
that  you  immediately  resign  your  high  post  in  the 
king's  service,  and  live  upon  the  pittance  he  settles 
upon  you  as  his  daughter's  husband." 

"  'Tis  too  generous.     I  can't  accept." 

"You  must,  Bert,"  put  in  Fanny,  "or  else  you 
can't  have  me.  'Tis  one  of  papa's  conditions." 

"But,"  Phil  went  on,  "in  order  that  this  unhappy 
child  may  become  used  to  the  horrible  idea  of  this 
marriage  by  degrees,  she  is  to  live  with  your  mother 
a  few  months  while  I  carry  you  off  on  a  trip  for  my 
benefit  and  pleasure  :  and  that's  one  of  my  conditions  : 
for  it  wouldn't  do  for  you  to  go  travelling  about  the 
country  after  you  were  married,  leaving  your  wife  at 
home,  and  Fanny  abominates  travelling.  But  as 
soon  as  you  and  I  have  seen  a  very  little  of  this  part 
of  the  world,  you're  to  be  married  and  live  happy 
ever  after." 


358  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

We  had  a  memorable  evening  in  our  little  parlour 
that  night.  'Twas  like  being  home  again,  my  mother 
said  —  thereby  admitting  inferentially  the  homesick 
ness  she  had  refused  to  confess  directly.  The  chief 
piece  of  personal  news  the  visitors  brought  was  that 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Cornelius  had  taken  a  wife,  and  moved 
into  our  old  house,  which  'twas  pleasant  to  know 
was  in  such  friendly  hands ;  and  that  the  couple 
considered  it  their  particular  mission  to  enliven  the 
hours  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Faringfield,  with  whom  they 
spent  half  their  time. 

Philip's  first  month  in  England  was  spent  in  explor 
ing  London,  sometimes  with  me,  sometimes  alone, 
for  'tis  needless  to  say  in  whose  society  I  chose  to 
pass  much  of  my  time.  What  sights  he  saw ;  what 
unlikely  corners  he  sought  out  because  some  poet 
had  been  born,  or  died,  or  drunk  wine  there ;  what 
streets  he  roamed  :  I  am  sure  I  never  could  tell.  I 
know  that  all  the  time  he  kept  eyes  alert  for  a  certain 
face,  ears  keen  for  a  certain  name ;  but  neither  in  the 
streets,  nor  at  the  shops,  nor  in  the  parks,  nor  at  the 
play,  did  he  catch  a  glimpse  of  Margaret ;  nor  in 
the  coffee-house,  or  tavern,  or  gaming-place,  or  in  the 
region  of  the  clubs,  did  he  hear  a  chance  mention  of 
the  name  of  Falconer.  And  so,  presently,  we  set 
about  making  the  tour  he  had  spoken  of. 

There  was  a  poor  family  of  Long  Island  loyalists 
named  Doughty,  that  had  settled  in  the  seacoast 


PHILIP    COMES  AT  LAST  TO  LONDON.       359 

town  of  Hastings  in  Sussex,  in  order  that  they 
might  follow  the  fisheries,  which  had  been  their 
means  of  livelihood  at  home.  Considering  that  a 
short  residence  in  the  more  mild  and  sunny  climate 
of  the  Channel  might  be  a  pleasant  change  for  my 
mother,  and  not  disagreeable  to  Fanny,  we  arranged 
that,  during  the  absence  of  Phil  and  me,  we  should 
close  our  cottage,  and  the  ladies  should  board  with 
these  worthy  though  humble  people,  who  would 
afford  them  all  needful  masculine  protection.  Hav 
ing  seen  them  comfortably  established,  we  set  forth 
upon  our  travels. 

We  visited  the  principal  towns  and  historic  places 
of  England  and  Scotland,  Philip  having  a  particular 
interest  in  Northamptonshire,  where  his  father's  line 
sprang  from  (Sir  Ralph  Winwood  having  been  a 
worthy  of  some  eminence  in  the  reigns  of  Elizabeth 
and  James),10  and  in  Edinburgh,  the  native  place  of 
his  mother.  Cathedrals,  churches,  universities,  cas 
tles,  tombs  of  great  folk,  battle-fields  —  'twould  fill 
a  book  to  describe  all  the  things  and  places  we  saw ; 
most  of  which  Phil  knew  more  about  than  the  people 
did  who  dwelt  by  them.  From  England  we  crossed 
to  France,  spent  a  fortnight  in  Paris,  went  to  Rheims, 
thence  to  Strasburg,  thence  to  Frankfort ;  came  down 
the  Rhine,  and  passed  through  parts  of  Belgium  and 
Holland  before  taking  vessel  at  Amsterdam  for  Lon 
don.  "  I  must  leave  Italy,  the  other  German  states, 


360  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

and  the  rest  till  another  time,"  said  Philip.  It 
seemed  as  if  we  had  been  gone  years  instead  of 
months,  when  at  last  we  were  all  home  again  in  our 
cottage  at  Hampstead. 

After  my  marriage,  though  Mr.  Faringfield's  hand 
some  settlement  would  have  enabled  Fanny  and  me 
to  live  far  more  pretentiously,  we  were  content  to 
remain  in  the  Hampstead  cottage.  Fanny  would 
not  hear  to  our  living  under  a  separate  roof  from 
that  of  my  mother,  whose  constant  society  she  had 
come  to  regard  as  necessary  to  her  happiness. 

Philip  now  arranged  to  pursue  the  study  of  archi 
tecture  in  the  office  of  a  practitioner  of  that  art ;  and 
he  gave  his  leisure  hours  to  the  improving  of  his 
knowledge  of  London.  He  made  acquaintances ; 
passed  much  time  in  the  Pall  Mall  taverns  ;  and  was 
able  to  pilot  me  about  the  town,  and  introduce  me  to 
many  agreeable  habitues  of  the  coffee-houses,  as  if 
he  were  the  elder  resident  of  London,  and  I  were  the 
newcomer.  And  so  we  arrived  at  the  Spring  of 
1 786,  and  a  momentous  event. 


"IT  WAS   PHILIP  S    CUSTOM,  AT   THIS   TIME,  TO   ATTEND   FIRST 
NIGHTS    AT    THE    PLAYHOUSES." 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

We  Meet  a  Play-actress   There. 

IT  was  Philip's  custom,  at  this  time,  to  attend  first 
nights  at  the  playhouses,  as  well  from  a  love  of  the 
theatre  as  from  the  possibility  that  he  might  thus 
come  upon  Captain  Falconer.  He  always  desired 
my  company,  which  I  was  the  readier  to  grant  for 
that  I  should  recognise  the  captain  in  any  assemblage, 
and  could  point  him  out  to  Phil,  who  had  never  seen 
him.  We  took  my  mother  and  Fanny  excepting 
when  they  preferred  to  stay  at  home,  which  was  the 
case  on  a  certain  evening  in  this  Spring  of  1786, 
when  we  went  to  Drury  Lane  to  witness  the  reap 
pearance  of  a  Miss  Warren  who  had  been  practising 
her  art  the  previous  three  years  in  the  provinces. 
This  long  absence  from  London  had  begun  before 
my  mother  and  I  arrived  there,  and  consequently 
Philip  and  I  had  that  evening  the  pleasurable  antici 
pation  of  seeing  upon  the  stage  a  much-praised  face 
that  was  quite  new  to  us. 

There  was  the  usual  noisy  throng  of  coaches, 
361 


362  PHILIP   WINWOOD. 

chairs,  people  afoot,  lackeys,  chair-men,  boys,  and 
such,  in  front  of  the  playhouse  when  we  arrived, 
and  though  we  scanned  all  faces  on  whom  the  light 
fell,  we  had  our  wonted  disappointment  regarding 
that  of  Captain  Falconer.  We  made  our  way  to  the 
pit,  and  passed  the  time  till  the  bell  and  the  chorus 
"  Hats  off  !  "  signalled  the  rising  of  the  green  curtain, 
in  watching  the  chattering  assemblage  that  was  every 
moment  swelled  from  the  doors ;  but  neither  among 
the  lace-ruffled  bucks  and  macaronis  who  chaffed 
with  the  painted  and  powdered  ladies  in  the  boxes, 
nor  among  those  dashing  gentry  who  ogled  the  same 
towering-haired  ladies  from  the  benches  around  us 
in  the  pit,  did  I  perceive  the  elegant  and  easy  cap 
tain.  We  therefore  fell  back  upon  the  pleasure  to 
be  expected  from  the  play  itself,  and  when  the  curtain 
rose,  I,  for  one,  was  resigned  to  the  absence  of  him 
we  had  come  partly  in  quest  of. 

No  sooner  had  Miss  Warren  come  upon  the  stage, 
in  her  favourite  part  of  Fanny  in  "  The  Clandestine 
Marriage,"  revived  for  the  occasion,  than  I  knew  her 
as  Madge  Faringfield.  I  bent  forward,  with  staring 
eyes  and  gaping  mouth  ;  if  I  uttered  any  exclamation 
it  was  drowned  in  the  sound  of  the  hand-clapping 
that  greeted  her.  While  she  curtseyed  and  pleasantly 
smiled,  in  response  to  this  welcome,  I  turned  abruptly 
to  Phil,  my  eyes  betokening  my  recognition.  He 
nodded,  without  a  word  or  any  other  movement,  and 


WE  MEET  A    PLAY-ACTRESS    THERE.       363 

continued  to  look  at  her,  his  face  wearing  a  half- 
smiling  expression  of  gentle  gladness. 

I  knew,  from  my  old  acquaintance  with  him,  that 
he  was  under  so  great  emotion  that  he  dared  not 
speak.  It  was,  indeed,  a  cessation  of  secret  anxiety 
to  him,  a  joy  such  as  only  a  constant  lover  can 
understand,  to  know  that  she  was  alive,  well,  with 
means  of  livelihood,  and  beautiful  as  ever.  Though 
she  was  now  thirty-one,  she  looked,  on  the  stage, 
not  a  day  older  than  upon  that  sad  night  when  he 
had  thrown  her  from  him,  six  years  and  more  before 
—  nay,  than  upon  that  day  well-nigh  eleven  years 
before,  when  he  had  bade  her  farewell  to  go  upon 
his  first  campaign.  She  was  still  as  slender,  still  had 
the  same  girlish  air  and  manner. 

Till  the  curtain  fell  upon  the  act,  we  sat  without 
audible  remark,  delighting  our  eyes  with  her  looks, 
our  ears  with  her  voice,  our  hearts  (and  paining  them 
at  the  same  time)  with  the  memories  her  every 
movement,  every  accent,  called  up. 

"  How  shall  we  see  her  ? "  were  Phil's  first  words 
at  the  end  of  the  act. 

"  We  may  be  allowed  to  send  our  names,  and  see 
her  in  the  greenroom,"  said  I.  "  Or  perhaps  you 
know  somebody  who  can  take  us  there  without  any 
preliminaries." 

"  Nay,"  returned  Philip,  after  a  moment's  thought, 
"there  will  be  other  people  there.  I  shouldn't  like 


364  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

strangers  to  see  —  you  understand.  We  shall  wait 
till  the  play  is  over,  and  then  go  to  the  door  where 
the  players  come  out.  'Twill  take  her  some  time  to 
dress  for  going  home  —  we  can't  miss  her  that  way." 

I  sympathised  with  his  feelings  against  making 
their  meeting  a  scene  for  the  amusement  of  frivolous 
lookers-on,  and  we  waited  patiently  enough.  Neither 
of  us  could  have  told,  when  the  play  was  over,  what 
was  the  story  it  presented.  Even  Madge's  speeches 
we  heard  with  less  sense  of  their  meaning  than 
emotion  at  the  sound  of  her  voice.  If  this  was  the 
case  with  me,  how  much  more  so,  as  I  could  see  by 
side-glances  at  his  face,  was  it  with  Philip !  Between 
the  acts,  we  had  little  use  for  conversation.  One  of 
our  thoughts,  though  neither  uttered  it,  was  that, 
despite  the  reputation  that  play-actresses  generally 
bore,  a  woman  could  live  virtuously  by  the  profession, 
and  in  it,  and  that  several  women  since  the  famous 
Mrs.  Bracegirdle  were  allowed  to  have  done  so. 
'Twas  only  necessary  to  look  at  our  Madge,  to  turn 
the  possibility  in  her  case  into  certainty. 

When  at  last  the  play  was  ended,  we  forced  our 
way  through  the  departing  crowd  so  as  to  arrive 
almost  with  the  first  upon  the  scene  of  waiting  foot 
men,  shouting  drivers,  turbulent  chair-men,  clamorous 
boys  with  dim  lanterns  or  flaming  torches,  and  such 
attendants  upon  the  nightly  emptying  of  a  playhouse. 
Through  this  crush  we  fought  our  way,  hastened 


WE  MEET  A   PLAY-ACTRESS    THERE.       365 

around  into  a  darker  street,  comparatively  quiet  and 
deserted,  and  found  a  door  with  a  feeble  lamp  over 
it,  which,  as  a  surly  old  fellow  within  told  us,  served 
as  stage  entrance  to  the  theatre.  We  crossed  the 
dirty  street,  and  took  up  our  station  in  the  shadow 
opposite  the  door ;  whence  a  few  actors  not  required 
in  the  final  scene,  or  not  having  to  make  much 
alteration  of  attire  for  the  street,  were  already  emerg 
ing,  bent  first,  I  suppose,  for  one  or  other  of  the 
many  taverns  or  coffee-houses  about  Covent  Garden 
near  at  hand. 

While  we  were  waiting,  two  chair-men  came  with 
their  vehicle  and  set  it  down  at  one  side  of  the  door, 
and  a  few  boys  and  women  gathered  in  the  hope  of 
obtaining  sixpence  by  some  service  of  which  a  player 
might  perchance  be  in  need  on  issuing  forth.  And 
presently  a  coach  appeared  at  the  corner  of  the  street, 
and  stopped  there,  whereupon  a  gentleman  got  out  of 
it,  gave  the  driver  and  footman  some  commands,  and 
while  the  conveyance  remained  where  it  was,  ap 
proached  alone,  at  a  blithe  gait,  and  took  post  near 
us,  though  more  in  the  light  shed  by  the  lamp  over 
the  stage  door. 

"  Gad's  life  !  "  I  exclaimed,  in  a  whisper. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Phil,  in  a  similar  voice. 

"  Falconer !  "  I  replied,  ere  I  had  thought. 

Philip  gazed  at  the  newcomer,  who  was  heedless 
of  our  presence.  Phil  seemed  about  to  stride  forward 


366  PHILIP  WIN  WOOD. 

to  him,  but  reconsidered,  and  whispered  to  me,  in  a 
strange  tone : 

"  What  can  he  be  doing  here,  where  she  —  ?  You 
are  sure  that's  the  man  ? " 

"Yes  —  but  not  now  —  'tis  not  the  place  —  we 
came  for  another  purpose  — 

"  I  know  —  but  if  I  lose  him  !  " 

"  No  fear  of  that.  I'll  keep  track  of  him  —  learn 
where  he's  to  be  found  —  while  you  meet  her." 

"But  if  he  — if  she—" 

"  Wait  and  see.  His  being  here,  may  not  in  any 
way  concern  her.  Mere  coincidence,  no  doubt." 

"  I  hope  to  God  it  is  !  "  whispered  Phil,  though  his 
voice  quivered.  "  Nay,  I'll  believe  it  is,  too,  till  I  see 
otherwise." 

"  Good  !  And  when  I  learn  his  haunts,  as  I  shall 
before  I  sleep,  you  may  find  him  at  any  time." 

And  so  we  continued  to  wait,  keeping  in  the  dark 
ness,  so  that  the  captain,  even  if  he  had  deigned  to 
be  curious,  could  not  have  made  out  our  faces  from 
where  he  stood.  Philip  watched  him  keenly,  to  stamp 
his  features  upon  memory,  as  well  as  they  could  be 
observed  in  the  yellow  light  of  the  sickly  lamp  ;  but 
yet,  every  few  moments  Phil  cast  an  eager  glance 
at  the  door.  I  grant  I  was  less  confident  that  Fal 
coner's  presence  was  mere  coincidence,  than  I  had 
appeared,  and  I  was  in  a  tremble  of  apprehension  for 
what  Madge's  coming  might  reveal. 


WE  MEET  A   PLAY -ACTRESS    THERE.       367 

The  captain,  who  was  very  finely  dressed,  and,  like 
us,  carried  a  cane  but  no  sword,  allowed  impatience 
to  show  upon  his  usually  serene  countenance  :  evi 
dently  he  was  unused  to  waiting  in  such  a  place,  and 
I  wondered  why  he  did  not  make  free  of  the  green 
room  instead  of  doing  so.  But  he  composed  himself 
to  patience  as  with  a  long  breath,  and  fell  to  humming 
softly  a  gay  French  air  the  while  he  stood  leaning 
motionlessly,  in  an  odd  but  graceful  attitude,  upon 
his  slender  cane.  Sometimes  he  glanced  back  toward 
the  waiting  coach,  and  then,  without  change  of 
position  as  to  his  body,  returned  his  gaze  to  the 
door. 

Two  or  three  false  alarms  were  occasioned  him, 
and  us,  by  the  coming  forth  of  ladies  who  proved,  as 
soon  as  the  light  struck  them,  to  be  other  than  the 
person  we  awaited.  But  at  last  she  appeared,  look 
ing  her  years  and  cares  a  little  more  than  upon  the 
stage,  but  still  beautiful  and  girlish.  She  was  fol 
lowed  by  a  young  waiting-woman  ;  but  before  we  had 
time  to  note  this,  or  to  step  out  of  the  shadow,  we 
saw  Captain  Falconer  bound  across  the  way,  seize 
her  hand,  and  bend  very  gallantly  to  kiss  it. 

So,  then,  it  was  for  her  he  had  waited  :  such  was 
the  bitter  thought  of  Phil  and  me ;  and  how  our 
hearts  sickened  at  it,  may  be  imagined  when  I  say 
that  his  hope  and  mine,  though  unexpressed,  had 
been  to  find  her  penitent  and  hence  worthy  of  all 


368  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

forgiveness,  in  which  case  she  would  not  have  re 
newed  even  acquaintance  with  this  captain.  And 
there  he  was,  kissing  her  hand ! 

But  ere  either  of  us  could  put  our  thought  into 
speech,  our  sunken  hearts  were  suddenly  revived,  by 
Madge's  conduct. 

She  drew  her  hand  instantly  away,  and  as  soon  as 
she  saw  who  it  was  that  had  seized  it,  she  took  on  a 
look  of  extreme  annoyance  and  anger,  and  would  have 
hastened  past  him,  but  that  he  stood  right  in  her 
way. 

"  You  again  !  "  she  said.  "  Has  my  absence  been 
for  nothing,  then  ?  " 

"  Had  you  stayed  from  London  twice  three  years, 
you  would  have  found  me  the  same,  madam,"  he 
replied. 

"Then  I  must  leave  London  again,  that's  all," 
said  she. 

"  It  shall  be  with  me,  then,"  said  he.  "  My  coach 
is  waiting  yonder." 

"And  my  chair  is  waiting  here,"  said  she,  snatch 
ing  an  opportunity  to  pass  him  and  to  step  into  the 
sedan,  of  which  the  door  was  invitingly  open.  It 
was  not  her  chair,  but  one  that  stood  in  solicitation 
of  some  passenger  from  the  stage  door ;  as  was  now 
shown  by  one  of  the  chair-men  asking  her  for  direc 
tions.  She  bade  her  maid  hire  a  boy  with  a  light, 
and  lead  the  way  afoot ;  and  told  the  chair-men  to 


WE   MEET  A   PLAY-ACTRESS    THERE.       369 

follow  the  maid.  The  chair  door  being  then  closed, 
and  the  men  lifting  their  burden,  her  orders  were 
carried  out. 

Neither  Philip  nor  I  had  yet  thought  it  opportune 
to  appear  from  our  concealment,  and  now  he  whis 
pered  that,  for  the  avoidance  of  a  scene  before  spec 
tators,  it  would  be  best  for  him  to  follow  the  chair, 
and  accost  her  at  her  own  door.  I  should  watch 
Falconer  to  his  abode,  and  each  of  us  should  eventu 
ally  go  home  independently  of  the  other.  Our  relief 
to  find  that  the  English  captain's  presence  was  against 
Madge's  will,  needed  no  verbal  expression ;  it  was 
sufficiently  manifest  otherwise. 

Before  Philip  moved  out  to  take  his  place  behind 
the  little  procession,  Falconer,  after  a  moment's 
thought,  walked  rapidly  past  to  his  coach,  and  giv 
ing  the  driver  and  footman  brief  orders,  stepped 
into  it.  'Twas  now  time  for  both  Phil  and  me  to 
be  in  motion,  and  we  went  down  the  way  together. 
The  chair  passed  the  coach,  which  immediately  fell 
in  behind  it,  the  horses  proceeding  at  a  walk. 

"  He  intends  to  follow  her,"  said  I. 

"Then  we  shall  follow  both,"  said  Phil,  "and  await 
events.  'Tis  no  use  forcing  a  scene  in  this  neigh 
bourhood." 

So  Philip's  quest  and  mine  lay  together,  and  we 
proceeded  along  the  footway,  a  little  to  the  rear  of 
the  coach,  which  in  turn  was  a  little  to  the  rear 


3/0  PHILIP   WINWOOD. 

of  the  chair.  Passing  the  side  of  Drury  Lane  Thea 
tre,  the  procession  soon  turned  into  Bow  Street, 
and  leaving  Covent  Garden  Theatre  behind,  pres 
ently  resumed  a  Southwestward  course,  deflecting 
at  St.  Martin's  Lane  so  as  to  come  at  last  into  Ger- 
rard  Street,  and  turning  thence  Northward  into  Dean 
Street.  Here  the  maid  led  the  chair-men  along  the 
West  side  of  the  way  ;  but  Philip  and  I  kept  the  East 
side.  At  last  the  girl  stopped  before  a  door  with  a 
pillared  porch,  and  the  carriers  set  down  the  chair. 

Instantly  Captain  Falconer's  footman  leaped  from 
the  box  of  the  coach,  and,  while  the  maid  was  at 
the  chair  door  to  help  her  mistress,  dashed  into  the 
porch  and  stood  so  as  to  prevent  any  one's  reaching 
the  door  of  the  house.  The  captain  himself,  spring 
ing  out  of  the  coach,  was  at  Madge's  side  as  soon 
as  she  had  emerged  from  the  chair.  Philip  and  I, 
gliding  unseen  across  the  street,  saw  him  hand  some 
thing  to  the  front  chair-man  which  made  that  rascal 
open  his  mouth  in  astonishnent  —  'twas,  no  doubt,  a 
gold  piece  or  two  —  and  heard  him  say  : 

"You  and  your  fellow,  begone,  and  divide  that 
among  you.  Quick  !  Vanish  !  " 

The  men  obeyed  with  alacrity,  bearing  their  empty 
chair  past  Phil  and  me  toward  Gerrard  Street  at  a 
run.  The  captain,  by  similar  means,  sent  the  boy 
with  the  light  scampering  off  in  the  opposite  direc 
tion.  Meanwhile,  Philip  and  I  having  stopped  behind 


WE  MEET  A   PLAY-ACTRESS    THERE.       3/1 

a  pillar  of  the  next  porch  for  a  moment's  consulta 
tion,  Madge  was  bidding  the  footman  stand  aside 
from  before  her  door.  This  we  could  see  by  the 
rays  of  a  street  lamp,  which  were  at  that  place  suffi 
cient  to  make  a  carried  light  not  absolutely  necessary. 

"  Come  into  the  coach,  madam,"  said  Falconer, 
seizing  one  of  her  hands.  "  You  remember  my 
promise.  I  swear  I  shall  keep  it  though  I  hang  for 
it !  Don't  make  a  disturbance  and  compel  me  to 
use  force,  I  beg.  You  see,  the  street  is  deserted." 

"You  scoundrel !  "  she  answered.  "If  you  really 
think  you  can  carry  me  off,  you're  much  — 

"  Nay,"  he  broke  in,  "  actresses  are  carried  off, 
and  not  always  for  the  sake  of  being  talked  about, 
neither!  Fetch  the  maid,  Richard  —  I  wouldn't  de 
prive  a  lady  of  her  proper  attendance.  Pray  pardon 
this  —  you  put  me  to  it,  madam  !  " 

With  which,  he  grasped  her  around  the  waist, 
lifted  her  as  if  she  were  a  child,  and  started  with 
her  toward  the  coach.  The  footman,  a  huge  fellow, 
adopted  similar  measures  with  the  waiting-woman, 
who  set  up  a  shrill  screaming  that  made  needless 
any  cries  on  Madge's  part. 

Philip  and  I  dashed  forward  at  this,  and  while  I 
fell  upon  the  footman,  Phil  staggered  the  captain 
with  a  blow.  As  Falconer  turned  with  an  exclama 
tion,  to  see  by  whom  he  was  attacked,  Madge  tore 
herself  from  his  relaxed  hold,  ran  to  the  house  door, 


3/2  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

and  set  the  knocker  going  at  its  loudest.  A  second 
blow  from  Philip  sent  the  captain  reeling  against  his 
coach  wheel.  I,  meanwhile,  had  drawn  the  footman 
from  the  maid ;  who  now  joined  her  mistress  and 
continued  shrieking  at  the  top  of  her  voice.  The 
fellow,  seeing  his  master  momentarily  in  a  daze,  and 
being  alarmed  by  the  knocking  and  screaming,  was 
put  at  a  loss.  The  house  door  opening,  and  the 
noise  bringing  people  to  their  windows,  and  gentle 
men  rushing  out  of  Jack's  tavern  hard  by,  Master 
Richard  recovered  from  his  irresolution,  ran  and 
forced  his  master  into  the  coach,  got  in  after  him 
to  keep  him  there,  and  shouted  to  the  coachman  to 
drive  off. 

"Very  well,  madam,"  cried  Falconer  through  the 
coach  door,  before  it  closed  with  a  bang,  "  but  I'll 
keep  my  word  yet,  I  promise  you ! "  Whereupon, 
the  coach  rolled  away  behind  galloping  horses. 

Forgetting,  in  the  moment's  excitement,  my  inten 
tion  of  dogging  the  captain  to  his  residence,  I  accom 
panied  Philip  to  the  doorway,  where  stood  Madge 
with  her  maid  and  a  house  servant.  She  was  wait 
ing  to  thank  her  protectors,  whom,  in  the  rush  and 
partial  darkness,  she  had  not  yet  recognised.  It 
was,  indeed,  far  from  her  thoughts  that  we  two, 
whom  she  had  left  so  many  years  before  in  America, 
should  turn  up  at  her  side  in  London  at  such  a 
moment. 


WE  MEET  A    PLAY-ACTRESS    THERE.       373 

We  took  off  our  hats,  and  bowed.  Her  face  had 
already  formed  a  smile  of  thanks,  when  we  raised 
our  heads  into  the  light  from  a  candle  the  house 
servant  carried.  Madge  gave  a  little  startled  cry 
of  joy,  and  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  us  to 
make  sure  she  was  not  under  a  delusion :  then 
fondly  murmuring  Phil's  name  and  mine  in  what 
faint  voice  was  left  her,  she  made  first  as  if  she 
would  fall  into  his  arms ;  but  recollecting  with  a 
look  of  pain  how  matters  stood  between  them,  she 
drew  back,  steadied  herself  against  the  door-post, 
and  dropped  her  eyes  from  his. 

"We  should  like  to  talk  with  you  a  little,  my 
dear,"  said  Phil  gently.  "  May  we  come  in  ?  " 

There  was  a  gleam  of  new-lighted  hope  in  her  eyes 
as  she  looked  up  and  answered  tremulously : 

"  'Twill  be  a  happiness  —  more  than  I  dared  ex 
pect." 

We  followed  the  servant  with  the  candle  up-stairs 
to  a  small  drawing-room,  in  which  a  table  was  set 
with  bread,  cheese,  cold  beef,  and  a  bottle  of  claret. 

"  'Tis  my  supper,"  said  Madge.  "  If  I  had  known 
I  should  have  such  guests  —  you  will  do  me  the 
honour,  will  you  not  ? " 

Her  manner  was  so  tentative  and  humble,  so  much 
that  of  one  who  scarce  feels  a  right  even  to  plead, 
so  different  from  that  of  the  old  petted  and  radiant 
Madge,  that  'twould  have  taken  a  harder  man  than 


374  PHILIP  WIN  WOOD. 

Philip  to  decline.  And  so,  when  the  servant  had 
placed  additional  chairs,  down  we  sat  to  supper  with 
Miss  Warren,  of  Drury  Lane  Theatre,  who  had  sent 
her  maid  to  answer  the  inquiries  of  the  alarmed  house 
concerning  the  recent  tumult  in  the  street. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

We  Intrude  upon  a  Gentleman  at  a  Coffee-house. 

LITTLE  was  eaten  at  that  supper,  to  which  we  sat 
down  in  a  constraint  natural  to  the  situation.  Philip 
was  presently  about  to  assume  the  burden  of  opening 
the  conversation,  when  Madge  abruptly  began : 

"  I  make  no  doubt  you  recognised  him,  Bert  —  the 
man  with  the  coach." 

•'<  Yes.     Philip  and  I  saw  him  outside  the  theatre." 

"And  followed  him,  in  following  you,"  added 
Philip.  "We  had  intended  —  " 

"  You  must  not  suppose  —  "  she  interrupted  ;  but, 
after  a  moment's  halt  of  embarrassment,  left  the 
sentence  unfinished,  and  made  another  beginning  : 
"  I  never  saw  him  or  heard  of  him,  after  I  left  New 
York,  till  I  had  been  three  years  on  the  stage.  Then, 
when  the  war  was  over,  he  came  back  to  London, 
and  chanced  to  see  me  play  at  Drury  Lane.  He 
knew  me  in  spite  of  my  stage  name,  and  during  that 
very  performance  I  found  him  waiting  in  the  green 
room.  I  had  no  desire  for  any  of  his  society,  and 
told  him  so.  But  it  seems  that,  finding  me  —  ad- 

375 


3/6  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

mired,  and  successful  in  the  way  I  had  resorted 
to,  he  could  not  be  content  till  he  regained  my  —  es 
teem.  If  I  had  shown  myself  friendly  to  him  then, 
I  should  soon  have  been  rid  of  him  :  but  instead,  I 
showed  a  resolution  to  avoid  him  ;  and  he  is  the  kind 
of  man  who  can't  endure  a  repulse  from  a  woman. 
To  say  truth,  he  thinks  himself  invincible  to  'em 
all,  and  when  he  finds  one  of  'em  proof  against  him, 
even  though  she  may  once  have  seemed  —  when 
she  didn't  know  her  mind  —  well,  she  is  the  woman 
he  must  be  pestering,  to  show  that  he's  not  to  be 
resisted. 

"  And  so,  at  last,  to  be  rid  of  his  plaguing,  I  went 
away  from  London,  and  took  another  stage  name, 
and  acted  in  the  country.  Only  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sheri 
dan  were  in  the  secret  of  this  :  'twas  Mr.  Sheridan 
gave  me  letters  to  the  country  managers.  That  was 
in  the  Fall  of  '83.  Well,  I  heard  after  awhile  that  he 
too  had  gone  into  the  country,  to  dance  attendance  on 
an  old  aunt,  whose  heir  he  had  got  the  chance  of 
being,  through  his  cousin's  death.  But  I  knew  if  I 
came  back  to  London  he  would  hear  of  it,  and  then, 
sure,  farewell  to  all  my  peace  !  He  had  continually 
threatened  to  carry  me  off  in  a  coach  to  some  village 
by  the  Channel,  and  take  me  across  to  France  in  a 
fishing-smack.  When  I  declared  I  would  ask  the 
magistrates  for  protection,  he  said  they  would  laugh 
at  me  as  a  play-actress  trying  to  make  herself  talked 


WE   INTRUDE    UPON  A    GENTLEMAN.         377 

about.  I  took  that  to  be  true,  and  so,  as  I've  told 
you,  I  left  London. 

"  Well,  after  more  than  two  years,  I  thought  he 
must  have  put  me  out  of  his  mind,  and  so  I  returned, 
and  made  my  reappearance  to-night.  And,  mercy 
on  me  !  —  there  he  was,  waiting  outside  the  theatre. 
From  his  appearance,  I  suppose  the  aunt  has  died 
and  he  has  come  into  the  money.  He  followed  me 
home,  as  you  saw ;  and  for  a  moment,  when  he  was 
carrying  me  toward  the  coach,  I  vow  I  had  a  fear  of 
being  rushed  away  to  a  seaport,  and  taken  by  force, 
on  some  fisherman's  boat,  across  the  Channel.  And 
then,  all  of  a  sudden,  'twas  as  if  you  two  had  sprung 
out  of  the  earth.  Where  did  you  come  from  ?  How 
was  it  ?  Oh,  tell  me  all  —  all  the  news  !  Poor  Tom  ! 
I  thought  I  should  die  when  I  heard  of  his  death. 
'Twas  —  'twas  Falconer  told  me  —  how  he  was  killed 
in  a  skirmish  with  the  —  What's  the  matter  ?  Why 
do  you  look  so  ?  Isn't  it  true  ?  I  entreat  — !  " 

"  Did  Falconer  tell  you  Tom  died  that  way  ? "  I 
blurted  out,  hotly,  ere  Phil  could  check  me. 

"  In  truth,  he  did  !  How  was  it  ?  "  She  had  turned 
white  as  a  sheet. 

"  'Twas  Falconer  killed  him  in  a  duel,"  said  I,  with 
indignation,  "the  very  night  after  you  sailed  !  " 

"  What,  Fal —  !  A  duel !  My  God,  on  my  account, 
then !  Oh,  I  never  knew  that !  Oh,  Tom  —  little 
Tom  —  the  dear  little  fellow  —  'twas  I  killed  him!" 


378  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

She  flung  her  head  forward  upon  the  table,  and 
sobbed  wildly,  so  that  I  repented  of  my  outspoken 
anger  at  Falconer's  deception  of  her.  For  some 
minutes  her  grief  was  pitiful  to  see.  If  ever  there 
was  the  anguish  of  remorse,  it  was  then.  I  sat 
sobered,  leaving  it  to  Phil  to  apply  comfort,  which, 
when  her  outburst  of  tears  had  spent  its  violence,  he 
undertook  to  do. 

"Well,  well,  Madge,"  said  he,  softly,  "  'tis  done 
and  past  now,  and  not  for  us  to  recall.  'Twas  an 
honourable  death,  such  as  he  would  never  have 
shrunk  from  ;  and  he  has  long  been  past  all  sorrow. 
The  most  of  his  life,  while  it  lasted,  was  happy ;  and 
you  could  never  have  foreseen.  He  will  not  be  un 
avenged,  take  my  word  of  that !  " 

But  it  was  a  long  time  ere  Phil  could  restore  her 
to  composure.  When  he  had  done  so,  he  asked  her 
what  had  become  of  Ned.  Thereupon  she  told  us  all 
that  I  have  recorded  in  a  former  chapter,  of  their 
first  days  in  London,  and  the  events  leading  to  her 
acceptance  of  Mr.  Sheridan's  offer.  After  she  had 
been  acting  for  some  time,  under  the  name  of  Miss 
Warren,  Ned  chanced  to  come  to  the  play,  and  rec 
ognised  her.  He  thereupon  dogged  her,  in  miserable 
plight,  claiming  some  return  of  the  favours  which  he 
vowed  he  had  lavished  upon  her.  She  put  him  upon 
a  small  pension,  but  declared  that  if  he  molested  her 
with  further  demands  she  would  send  him  to  jail  for 


WE   INTRUDE    UPON  A    GENTLEMAN.        379 

robbing  her.  She  had  not  seen  him  since ;  he  had 
called  regularly  upon  her  man  of  business  for  his 
allowance,  until  lately,  when  he  had  ceased  to  appear. 

Of  what  had  occurred  before  she  turned  actress, 
she  told  us  all,  I  say  ;  for  the  news  of  Tom's  real 
fate  had  put  her  into  a  state  for  withholding  nothing. 
Never  was  confession  more  complete ;  uttered  as  it 
was  in  a  stricken  voice,  broken  as  it  was  by  convul 
sive  sobs,  marked  as  it  was  by  falling  tears,  hesitations 
for  phrases  less  likely  to  pain  Philip,  remorseful  lower- 
ings  of  her  eyes.  She  reverted,  finally,  to  her  ac 
quaintance  with  Falconer  in  New  York,  and  finished 
with  the  words  : 

"  But  I  protest  I  have  never  been  guilty  of  the 
worst  —  the  one  thing  —  I  swear  it,  Philip  ;  before 
God,  I  do  !  " 

If  any  load  was  taken  from  Phil's  mind  by  this,  he 
refrained  from  showing  it. 

"  I  came  in  search  of  you,"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice, 
"  to  see  what  I  could  do  toward  your  happiness.  I 
knew  that  in  your  situation,  a  wife  separated  from  her 
husband,  dependent  on  heaven  knew  what  for  a  main 
tenance,  you  must  have  many  anxious,  distressful 
hours.  If  I  had  known  where  to  find  you,  I  should 
have  sent  you  money  regularly  from  the  first,  and 
eased  your  mind  with  a  definite  understanding.  And 
now  I  wish  to  do  this — nay,  I  will  do  it,  for  it  is 
my  right.  Whatever  may  have  happened,  you  are 


3  SO  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

still  the  Madge  Faringfield  I  —  I  loved  from  the 
first ;  nothing  can  make  you  another  woman  to  me  : 
and  though  you  chose  to  be  no  longer  my  wife,  'tis 
impossible  that  while  I  live  I  can  cease  to  be  your 
husband." 

The  corners  of  her  lips  twitched,  but  she  recovered 
herself  with  a  disconsolate  sigh.  "  Chose  to  be  no 
longer  your  wife,"  she  repeated.  "  Yes,  it  appeared 
so.  I  wanted  to  shine  in  the  world.  I  have  shone 
—  on  the  stage,  I  mean ;  but  that's  far  from  the  way 
I  had  looked  to.  A  woman  in  my  situation  —  a  wife 
separated  from  her  husband  —  can  never  shine  as  I 
had  hoped  to,  I  fancy.  But  I've  been  admired  in  a 
way  —  and  it  hasn't  made  me  happy.  Admiration 
can't  make  a  woman  happy  if  she  has  a  deeper  heart 
than  her  desire  of  admiration  will  fill.  If  I  could 
have  forgot,  well  and  good ;  but  I  couldn't  forget, 
and  can't  forget.  And  one  must  have  love,  and 
devotion ;  but  after  having  known  yours,  Philip, 
whose  else  could  I  find  sufficient  ? " 

And  now  there  was  a  pause  while  each,  fearing 
that  the  other  might  not  desire  reunion,  hesitated  to 
propose  it ;  and  so,  each  one  waiting  for  the  other 
to  say  the  word,  both  left  it  unsaid.  When  the  talk 
was  finally  renewed,  it  was  with  a  return  of  the 
former  constraint. 

She  asked  us,  with  a  little  stiffness  of  manner, 
when  we  had  come  to  London ;  which  led  to  our 


WE  INTRUDE    UPON  A    GENTLEMAN.        381 

relation,  between  us,  of  all  that  had  passed  since  her 
departure  from  New  York.  She  opened  her  eyes  at 
the  news  of  our  residence  in  Hampstead,  and  lost  her 
embarrassment  in  her  glad,  impulsive  acceptance  of 
my  invitation  to  come  and  see  us  as  soon  as  possible. 
While  Philip  and  she  still  kept  their  distance,  as  it 
were,  I  knew  not  how  far  to  go  in  cordiality,  or  I 
should  have  pressed  her  to  come  and  live  with  us. 
She  wept  and  laughed,  at  the  prospect  of  seeing 
Fanny  and  my  mother,  and  declared  they  must  visit 
her  in  town.  And  then  her  tongue  faltered  as  the 
thought  returned  of  Falconer's  probable  interference 
with  the  quiet  and  safety  of  her  further  residence  in 
London  ;  and  her  face  turned  anxious. 

"  'Faith !  you  need  have  no  fear  on  that  score," 
said  Philip,  quietly.  "  Where  does  he  live  ? " 

She  did  not  know,  but  she  named  a  club,  and  a 
tavern,  from  which  he  had  dated  importunate  letters 
to  her  before  she  left  London. 

"Well,"  said  Philip,  rising,  "I  shall  see  a  lawyer 
to-morrow,  and  you  may  expect  to  hear  from  him 
soon  regarding  the  settlement  I  make  upon  you." 

"  You  are  too  kind,"  she  murmured.  "  I  have  no 
right  to  accept  it  of  you." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  have.  I  am  always  your  husband, 
I  tell  you  ;  and  you  will  have  no  choice  but  to  accept. 
I  know  not  what  income  you  get  by  acting  ;  but  this 
will  suffice  if  you  choose  to  leave  the  stage." 


382  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

"  But  you  ?  "  she  replied  faintly,  rising.  "  Shall  I 
not  see  —  ? " 

"  I  shall  leave  England  in  a  few  days :  I  don't 
know  how  long  I  shall  be  abroad.  But  there  will  be 
Bert,  and  Fanny,  and  Mrs.  Russell  —  I  know  you 
may  command  them  for  anything."  There  was  an 
oppressive  pause  now,  during  which  she  looked  at 
him  wistfully,  hoping  he  might  at  the  last  moment 
ask  her  that,  which  he  waited  to  give  her  a  final 
opportunity  of  asking  him.  But  neither  dared,  for 
fear  of  the  other's  hesitation  or  refusal.  And  so,  at 
length,  with  a  good-bye  spoken  in  an  unnatural  voice 
on  each  side,  the  two  exchanged  a  hand-clasp,  and 
Philip  left  the  room.  She  stood  pale  and  trembling, 
bereft  of  speech,  while  I  told  her  that  I  should  wait 
upon  her  soon.  Then  I  followed  Philip  down-stairs 
and  to  the  street. 

"  I  will  stay  to-night  at  Jack's  tavern  yonder,"  said 
he.  "  I  can  watch  this  house,  in  case  that  knave 
should  return  to  annoy  her.  Go  you  home  —  Fanny 
and  your  mother  will  be  anxious.  And  come  for  me 
to-morrow  at  the  tavern,  as  early  as  you  can.  You 
may  tell  them  what  you  see  fit,  at  home.  That's  all, 
I  think  —  'tis  very  late.  Good  night !  " 

I  sought  a  hackney-coach,  and  went  home  to 
relieve  the  fears  of  the  ladies,  occasioned  by  our 
long  absence.  My  news  that  Margaret  was  found  (I 
omitted  mention  of  Captain  Falconer  in  my  account) 


WE   INTRUDE    UPON  A    GENTLEMAN.        383 

put  the  good  souls  into  a  great  flutter  of  joy  and 
excitement,  and  they  would  have  it  that  they  should 
go  in  to  see  her  the  first  thing  on  the  morrow,  a 
resolution  I  saw  no  reason  to  oppose.  So  I  took 
them  with  me  to  town  in  the  morning,  left  them  at 
Madge's  lodgings,  and  was  gone  to  join  Philip  ere 
the  laughing  and  crying  of  their  meeting  with  her 
was  half-done. 

As  there  was  little  chance  to  find  Captain  Fal 
coner  stirring  early,  Phil  and  I  gave  the  forenoon  to 
his  arrangements  with  his  man  of  law  at  Lincoln's 
Inn.  When  these  were  satisfactorily  concluded,  and 
a  visit  incidental  to  them  had  been  made  to  a  bank  in 
the  city,  we  refreshed  ourselves  at  the  Globe  tavern 
in  Fleet  Street,  and  then  turned  our  faces  Westward. 

At  the  tavern  that  Madge  had  named,  we  learned 
where  Falconer  abode,  but,  proceeding  to  his  lodg 
ings,  found  he  had  gone  out.  We  looked  in  at  vari 
ous  places  whither  we  were  directed ;  but  'twas  not 
till  late  in  the  afternoon,  that  Philip  caught  sight  of 
him  writing  a  letter  at  a  table  in  the  St.  James  Coffee 
house. 

Philip  recognised  him  from  the  view  he  had 
obtained  the  previous  night ;  but,  to  make  sure,  he 
nudged  me  to  look.  On  my  giving  a  nod  of  con 
firmation,  Philip  went  to  him  at  once,  and  said  : 

"  Pray  pardon  my  interrupting :  you  are  Captain 
Falconer,  I  believe." 


384  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

The  captain  looked  up,  and  saw  only  Philip,  for  I 
stood  a  little  to  the  rear  of  the  former's  elbow. 

"  I  believe  so,  too,  sir,"  he  replied  urbanely. 

"Our  previous  meeting  was  so  brief,"  said  Philip, 
"that  I  doubt  you  did  not  observe  my  face  so  as  to 
recall  it  now." 

"That  must  be  the  case,"  said  the  captain,  "for 
I  certainly  do  not  remember  having  ever  met  you." 

"  And  yet  our  meeting  was  no  longer  ago  than  last 
night  —  in  Dean  Street." 

The  captain's  face  changed  :  he  gazed,  half  in  as 
tonishment,  half  in  a  dawning  resentment. 

"The  deuce,  sir!  Have  you  intruded  upon  me  to 
insult  me  ?" 

"'Faith,  sir,  I've  certainly  intruded  upon  you  for 
no  friendly  purpose." 

Falconer  continued  to  gaze,  in  wonder  as  well  as 
annoyance. 

"  Who  the  devil  are  you,  sir  ? "  he  said  at  last. 

"My  name  is  Win  wood,  sir — Captain  Winwood, 
late  of  the  American  army  of  Independence." 

Falconer  opened  his  eyes  wide,  parted  his  lips,  and 
turned  a  little  pale.  At  that  moment,  I  shifted  my 
position  ;  whereupon  he  turned,  and  saw  me. 

"  And  Russell,  too  !  "  said  he.     "Well,  this  is  a  — 
an  odd  meeting,  gentlemen." 

"  Not  a  chance  one,"  said  Philip.  "  I  have  been 
some  time  seeking  you." 


WE  INTRUDE    UPON  A    GENTLEMAN.        385 

"Well,  well,"  replied  the  captain,  recovering  his 
self-possession.  "I  imagine  I  know  your  purpose, 
sir." 

"That  will  spare  my  explaining  it.  You  will,  of 
course,  accommodate  me?" 

"  Oh,  yes ;  I  see  no  way  out  of  it.  Gad,  I'm 
the  most  obliging  of  men  —  Mr.  Russell  will  vouch 
for  it." 

"  Then  I  beg  you  will  increase  the  obligation  by 
letting  us  despatch  matters  without  the  least  delay." 

"  Certainly,  if  you  will  have  it  so  —  though  I 
abominate  hurry  in  all  things." 

"  To-morrow  at  dawn,  I  hope,  will  not  be  too  soon 
for  your  preparations  ? " 

"Why,  no,  I  fancy  not.  Let  me  see.  One  mo 
ment,  I  pray." 

He  called  a  waiter,  and  asked  : 

"  Thomas,  is  there  any  gentleman  of  my  acquaint 
ance  in  the  house  at  present  ? " 

"  Oh,  a  score,  sir.  There's  Mr.  Hidsleigh  hup- 
stairs,  and  — 

"  Mr.  Idsleigh  will  do.  Ask  him  to  grant  me  the 
favour  of  coming  down  for  a  minute."  The  waiter 
hastened  away.  "  Mr.  Russell,  of  course,  represents 
you,  sir,"  the  captain  added,  to  Philip. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  and  you  are  the  challenged  party,  of 
course." 

"  I  thank  you,  sir.     If  Mr.  Russell  will  wait,  I  will 


386  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

introduce  my  friend  here,  and  your  desire  for  expedi 
tion  may  be  carried  out." 

"  I  am  much  indebted,  sir,"  said  Philip ;  and 
requesting  me  to  join  him  later  at  the  tavern  in  Dean 
Street,  he  took  his  leave. 

When  Mr.  Idsleigh,  a  fashionable  young  buck 
whom  I  now  recalled  having  once  seen  in  the  com 
pany  of  Lord  March,  had  presented  himself,  a  very 
brief  explanation  on  Falconer's  part  sufficed  to  enlist 
his  services  as  second  ;  whereupon  the  captain  desired 
affably  that  he  might  be  allowed  to  finish  his  letter, 
and  Idsleigh  and  I  retired  to  a  compartment  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  room.  Idsleigh  regarded  me  with 
disdainful  indifference,  and  conducted  his  side  of  the 
preliminaries  in  a  bored  fashion,  as  if  the  affair  were 
of  even  less  consequence  than  Falconer  had  pretended 
to  consider  it.  He  set  me  down  as  a  nobody,  a  per 
son  quite  out  of  the  pale  of  polite  society,  and  one 
whom  it  was  proper  to  have  done  with  in  the  shortest 
time,  and  with  the  fewest  words,  possible.  I  was 
equally  chary  of  speech,  and  it  was  speedily  settled 
that  our  principals  should  fight  with  small  swords,  at 
sunrise,  at  a  certain  spot  in  Hyde  Park  ;  and  Idsleigh 
undertook  to  provide  a  surgeon.  He  then  turned 
his  back  on  me,  and  walked  over  to  Falconer,  with 
out  the  slightest  civility  of  leave-taking. 

I  went  first  in  a  hackney-coach  to  Hyde  Park,  to 
ascertain  exactly  the  spot  which  Mr.  Idsleigh  had 


WE  INTRUDE    UPON  A    GENTLEMAN.        387 

designated.  Having  done  so,  I  returned  to  Dean 
Street ;  and,  in  order  that  I  might  without  suspicion 
accompany  Philip  before  daybreak,  I  called  at  Madge's 
lodgings,  and  suggested  that  my  mother  and  Fanny 
should  pass  the  night  in  her  house  (in  which  I  had 
observed  there  were  rooms  to  let)  and  take  her  to 
Hampstead  the  next  day ;  while  I  should  sleep  at 
the  tavern.  This  plan  was  readily  adopted.  There 
upon,  rejoining  Philip,  I  went  with  him  to  the  Strand, 
where  he  engaged  a  post-chaise  to  be  in  waiting  for 
him  and  me  the  next  morning,  for  our  flight  in  the 
event  of  the  duel  having  the  fatal  termination  he 
desired. 

"  We'll  take  a  hint  from  Captain  Falconer's  threat," 
said  Phil :  "  ride  post  to  Hastings,  and  have  the 
Doughty  boys  sail  us  across  to  France.  You'd  best 
write  a  letter  this  evening,  to  leave  at  Madge's  lodg 
ings  after  the  affair,  explaining  your  departure,  to 
Fanny  and  your  mother.  Afterward,  you  can  either 
send  for  them  to  come  to  France,  or  you  can  return 
to  Hampstead  when  the  matter  blows  over.  I  might 
have  spared  you  these  inconveniences  and  risks,  by 
getting  another  second  ;  but  I  knew  you  wouldn't 
stand  that." 

And  there,  indeed,  he  spoke  the  truth. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

The  Last,  and  Most  Eventful,  of  the  History. 

I  TOOK  my  mother  and  Fanny  to  the  play  that 
night,  to  see  Madge  act,  and  we  three  met  her  after 
the  performance  and  were  driven  to  her  lodgings  with 
her.  I  then  bade  the  ladies  good-night,  with  a  secret 
tenderness  arising  from  the  possibility,  unknown  to 
them,  that  our  parting  then  might  be  for  as  many 
months  as  they  supposed  hours. 

Returning  to  Philip  at  the  tavern,  I  found  he  had 
passed  the  evening  in  writing  letters ;  among  others, 
one  for  me  to  copy  in  my  own  name,  to  be  left  at 
Madge's  lodgings  in  case  of  my  having  to  flee  the 
country  for  awhile.  It  was  so  phrased  that  the  result 
of  the  duel,  whether  in  Philip's  death  or  his  antago 
nist's,  could  be  told  by  the  insertion  of  a  single  line, 
after  its  occurrence. 

Phil  and  I  rose  betimes  the  next  morning,  and  went 
by  hackney-coach,  in  the  darkness,  to  a  place  in  the 
Oxford  road,  near  Tyburn  ;  where  we  left  our  convey 
ance  waiting,  and  proceeded  afoot  to  the  chosen  spot 
in  the  Park. 


THE   LAST,   AND   MOST  EVENTFUL.  389 

No  one  was  there  when  we  arrived,  and  we  paced 
to  and  fro  together  to  keep  in  exercise,  talking  in  low 
voices,  and  beguiling  our  agitation  by  confining  our 
thoughts  to  a  narrow  channel.  The  sod  was  cool  and 
soft  to  our  tread,  and  the  smell  of  the  leaves  was 
pleasant  to  our  nostrils.  As  the  sky  whitened  above 
the  silent  trees,  and  the  gray  light  penetrated  to  the 
grassy  turf  at  our  feet,  Phil  quoted  softly  the  line 
from  Grey's  Elegy  in  which  the  phrase  of  "  incense- 
breathing  morn  "  occurs  ;  and  from  that  he  went  to 
certain  parts  of  Milton's  "  L' Allegro "  and  then  to 
Shakespeare's  songs,  "When  Daisies  Pied"  and 
"  Under  the  Greenwood  Tree." 

"'Faith,"  said  he,  breaking  off  from  the  poetry, 
"  'tis  a  marvel  how  content  I  feel !  You  would  not 
believe  it,  the  serene  happiness  that  has  come  over 
me.  'Tis  easy  to  explain,  though  :  I  have  adjusted 
my  affairs,  provided  for  my  wife,  left  nothing  in  con 
fusion  or  disorder,  and  am  as  ready  for  death  as  for 
life.  I  feel  at  last  responsible  to  no  one ;  free  to  ac 
cept  whatever  fate  I  may  incur ;  clear  of  burdens. 
The  great  thing,  man,  is  to  have  one's  debts  paid, 
one's  obligations  discharged :  then  death  or  life  mat 
ters  little,  and  the  mere  act  of  breathing  fresh  air  is 
a  joy  unspeakable." 

We  now  descried  the  figures  of  Falconer,  Idsleigh, 
and  a  third  gentleman,  approaching  under  the  trees. 
Civil  greetings  passed  as  they  came  up,  and  Falconer 


390  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

overwent  the  demands  of  mere  courtesy  so  far  as  to 
express  himself  upon  the  coolness  and  sweetness 
of  the  morning.  But  he  was  scrutinising  Philip  curi 
ously  the  while,  as  if  there  were  some  reason  why  he 
should  be  less  indifferent  regarding  this  antagonist 
than  he  had  shown  himself  regarding  Tom  Faringfield 
and  me. 

The  principals  removed  their  hats,  coats,  and  waist 
coats.  As  they  were  not  booted,  but  appeared  in 
stockings  and  low  shoes,  they  made  two  fine  and 
supple  figures  to  look  upon.  The  formalities  between 
Mr.  Idsleigh  and  me  were  as  brief  as  possible.  Fal 
coner  chose  his  sword  with  a  pretence  of  scarce 
looking  at  it,  Philip  gave  his  the  usual  examination, 
and  the  two  men  stood  on  guard. 

There  was  a  little  wary  play  at  first,  while  each 
sought  an  inkling  of  the  other's  method.  Then  some 
livelier  work,  in  which  they  warmed  themselves  and 
got  their  muscles  into  complete  facility,  followed  upon 
Phil's  pretending  to  lose  his  guard.  All  this  was  but 
overture,  and  it  came  to  a  stop  for  a  short  pause 
designed  as  preliminary  to  the  real  duel.  Both  were 
now  perspiring,  and  breathing  into  their  lungs  deep 
draughts  of  air.  Falconer's  expression  showed  that 
he  had  recognised  better  fencing  in  Phil's  work  than 
he  had  thought  to  find ;  but  Phil's  face  conveyed  no 
such  surprise,  for  he  had  counted  upon  an  adversary 
possessed  of  the  first  skill. 


THE  LAST,    AND  MOST  EVENTFUL.  39! 

'Twas  Falconer  who  began  what  we  all  felt  was  to 
be  the  serious  part  of  the  combat.  Phil  parried  the 
thrust  neatly ;  made  a  feint,  but,  instantly  recovering, 
availed  himself  of  his  opponent's  counter  movement, 
and  sank  his  point  fair  into  Falconer's  left  breast. 
The  English  captain  tumbled  instantly  to  the  ground. 
The  swiftness  of  the  thing  startled  us.  Idsleigh  and 
his  medical  companion  stared  in  amazement,  wonder 
ing  that  the  fallen  man  should  lie  so  still.  It  took  a 
second  or  two  for  that  which  their  eyes  had  informed 
them,  to  penetrate  to  their  understanding.  But 
Philip  and  I  knew  that  the  lunge  had  pierced  the 
heart,  and  that  the  accomplished  Lovelace  on  the 
ground  would  charm  no  more  women. 

'Twas  only  when  we  were  hastening  back  to  our 
hackney-coach,  that  Philip  trembled.  Then  for  a 
few  moments  his  teeth  chattered  as  if  he  were  taken 
with  a  chill,  and  his  face  was  deathly  pale. 

"'Tis  terrible,"  he  said,  in  an  awed  tone,  "to  kill  a 
man  this  way.  'Tis  not  like  in  war.  On  a  morning 
like  this,  in  the  civil  manner  of  gentlemen,  to  make 
of  such  a  marvellous  living,  thinking,  feeling  machine 
a  poor  heap  of  senseless  flesh  and  bone  that  can  only 
rot :  —  and  all  in  the  time  of  a  sword-thrust !  " 

"Tut!"  said  I,  "the  world  is  the  better  for  the 
riddance.  Think  of  Tom,  and  all  else !  " 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Phil,  conquering  his  weakness. 
"  And  such  men  know  what  they  risk  when  they 


3Q2  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

break  into  the  happiness  of  others.  I  could  not 
have  lived  in  peace  while  he  lived.  Well,  that  is  all 
behind  us  now.  Yonder  is  our  coach." 

We  got  in,  and  were  driven  to  the  tavern  in  Dean 
Street.  We  there  dismissed  the  coach,  and  Philip 
started  afoot  for  the  inn.  in  the  Strand,  where  our 
post-chaise  was  to  be  in  readiness.  I  was  to  join 
him  there  after  completing  the  letter  and  leaving 
it  at  Madge's  lodgings,  Philip  using  the  mean  time 
in  attending  to  the  posting  of  certain  letters  of 
his  own.  We  had  no  baggage  to  impede  us,  as  we 
intended  to  purchase  new  wearables  in  France :  we 
had,  on  the  previous  day,  provided  ourselves  with 
money  and  letters  of  credit.  My  affairs  had  been  so 
arranged  that  neither  my  wife  nor  my  mother  could 
be  pecuniarily  embarrassed  by  my  absence.  Philip's 
American  passport,  used  upon  our  former  travels, 
was  still  in  force  and  had  been  made  to  include  a 
travelling  companion.  So  all  was  smoothed  for  our 
flight. 

Taking  my  letter  to  the  house  in  which  Madge 
lived,  I  asked  for  her  maid,  telling  the  house  servant 
I  would  wait  at  the  street  door :  for,  as  I  did  not 
wish  to  meet  any  of  the  three  ladies,  I  considered  it 
safer  to  entrust  the  letter  to  Madge's  own  woman. 
The  girl  came  down  ;  but  I  had  no  sooner  handed 
her  the  letter,  and  told  her  what  to  do  with  it,  than 
I  heard  Madge's  voice  in  the  hall  above.  She  had 


THE  LAST,   AND  MOST  EVENTFUL.  393 

come  out  to  see  who  wanted  her  maid,  suspecting 
some  trick  of  Falconer's ;  and,  leaning  over  the 
stair-rail,  had  recognised  my  voice. 

"  What  is  it,  Bert  ?     Why  don't  you  come  up  ? " 
'•I  can't  —  I'm  in  haste,"  I  blundered.       "Good 


morning 


"  But  wait !  What's  wrong  ?  A  moment,  I  en 
treat !  Nay,  you  shall  — !  "  And  at  that  she  came 
tripping  swiftly  down  the  stairs.  The  maid,  em 
barrassed,  handed  her  the  letter.  Without  opening 
it,  she  advanced  to  me,  while  I  was  wildly  considering 
the  propriety  of  taking  to  my  heels  ;  and  demanded  : 

"  What  is  it  you  had  to  write  ?  Sure  'tis  your 
own  hand.  Why  can't  you  tell  me  ? " 

"  Not  so  loud,"  I  begged.  "  My  mother  and 
Fanny  mustn't  know  till  I  am  gone." 

"  Gone  ! "  With  this  she  tore  open  the  letter, 
and  seemed  to  grasp  its  general  sense  in  a  glance. 
"  A  duel !  I  suspected  —  from  what  Philip  said. 
Oh,  my  God,  was  he —  ?  "  She  scanned  the  writing 
wildly,  but  in  her  excitement  it  conveyed  nothing  to 
her  mind. 

"  Captain  Falconer  will  not  annoy  you  again,"  I 
said,  "  and  Philip  and  I  must  go  to  France  for  awhile. 
Good-bye  !  Let  mother  and  Fanny  see  the  letter  in 
half  an  hour." 

"  But  wait  —  thank  God,  he's  not  hurt !  —  France, 
you  say  ?  How  ?  Which  road  ? " 


394  PHILIP  WINWOOD. 

She  was  holding  my  coat  lapel,  to  make  me  stay 
and  tell  her.  So  I  answered  : 

"  By  post  to  Hastings  ;  there  we  shall  get  the 
Doughty  boys  to  — 

At  this,  there  broke  in  another  voice  from  above 
stairs  —  that  of  Fanny  : 

"  Is  that  Bert,  Madge  dear  ? " 

"Tell  her  'no,'"  I  whispered,  appalled  at  thought 
of  a  leave-taking,  explanations,  weeping,  and  delay. 
"And  for  God's  sake,  let  me  —  ah,  thank  you! 
Read  the  letter  —  you  shall  hear  from  us  —  God 
bless  you  all !  " 

The  next  moment  I  was  speeding  from  the  house, 
leaving  Madge  in  a  tumult  of  thoughts  at  the  door. 
I  turned  into  Gerrard  Street  without  looking  back ; 
and  brisk  walking  soon  brought  me  to  the  Strand, 
where  Philip  himself  was  just  ready  to  take  the 
post-chaise. 

"A  strange  thing  delayed  me,"  said  he,  as  we 
forthwith  took  our  seats  in  the  vehicle ;  which  we 
had  no  sooner  done  than  the  postilions  set  the  four 
horses  going  and  our  journey  was  begun. 

"  What  was  it  ?  "  I  asked,  willing  to  reserve  the 
account  of  my  interview  with  Madge  till  later. 

"  The  most  remarkable  thing,  for  me  to  witness 
on  this  particular  morning,"  he  replied ;  and  told  me 
the  story  as  we  rattled  through  Temple  Bar  and 
Fleet  Street,  on  our  way  to  the  bridge  and  the 


THE   LAST,   AND  MOST  EVENTFUL.  395 

Surrey  side.  "  After  I  left  you,  I  don't  know  what 
it  was  that  kept  me  from  coming  through  St.  Mar 
tin's  Lane  to  the  Strand,  and  made  me  continue  East 
instead.  But  something  did  ;  and  finally  I  turned  to 
come  through  Bow  Street.  When  I  was  nearly 
in  front  of  the  magistrate's  house,  a  post-chaise 
stopped  before  it,  and  a  fellow  got  out  whom  I  took 
to  be  a  Bow  Street  runner.  Several  people  ran  up 
to  see  if  he  had  a  prisoner  in  the  chaise,  and  so  the 
footway  was  blocked  ;  and  I  stopped  to  look  on  for  a 
moment  with  the  rest.  A  man  called  out  to  the 
constable,  'What  you  got,  Bill?'  The  constable, 
who  had  turned  around  and  reached  into  the  chaise, 
stopped  to  look  at  the  speaker,  and  said,  '  Nobody 
much  —  only  the  Soho  Square  assault  and  robbery  — 
I  ran  him  down  at  Plymouth,  waiting  for  a  vessel 
—  he  had  a  mind  to  travel  for  his  health.'  The 
constable  grinned,  and  the  other  man  said,  '  Sure 
that's  a  hanging  business,  and  no  mistake  ! ' 

"  And  so  it  is,"  said  I,  interrupting  Philip.  "  I 
read  of  the  affair  at  the  time.  A  fellow  named 
Howard  knocked  down  his  landlady,  robbed  her 
money-box,  and  got  away  before  she  came  to." 

"Yes,"  Phil  went  on,  "I  remembered  it,  too. 
And  I  waited  for  a  glimpse  of  the  robber's  face.  He 
stepped  out,  and  the  constable,  with  a  comrade  from 
inside  the  chaise,  led  him  to  where  they  hold  prisoners 
for  examination.  He  was  all  mud-stained,  dishevelled, 


396  PHILIP  WINWOOD. 

and  frowsy  :  for  two  seconds,  though  he  didn't  notice 
me,  I  had  a  good  view  of  him.  And  who  do  you 
think  this  Howard  really  was  ?  " 

"  Bless  me,  how  should  I  know  ?  My  acquaintance 
among  the  criminal  classes  isn't  what  it  might  be." 

"  Twas  Ned  Faringfield  !  "  said  Philip.  "  I  should 
have  known  him  anywhere — heavens,  how  little  a 
man's  looks  change,  through  all  vicissitudes ! " 

"Well,  upon  my  soul!"  I  exclaimed,  in  a  chill. 
"  Who'd  have  thought  it  ?  Yet  hanging  is  what  we 
always  predicted  for  him,  in  jest.  That  it  should 
come  so  soon  —  for  they'll  make  short  work  of  that 
case,  'tis  certain." 

"  Yes,  I  fear  they'll  not  lose  much  time  over  it,  at 
the  Old  Bailey.  We  may  expect  to  read  his  name 
among  the  Newgate  hangings  in  a  month  or  two. 
Poor  devil !  —  I'll  send  him  some  money  through  my 
lawyer,  and  have  Nobbs  see  that  he  gets  decent 
counsel.  Money  will  enable  him  to  live  his  last 
weeks  at  JSTewgate  in  comfort,  at  least ;  though  'tis 
beyond  counsel  to  save  his  neck.  His  people  must 
never  know.  Nor  Fanny." 

"  Unless  he  gives  his  real  name  at  the  trial,  or  in 
his  '  last  dying  speech  and  confession.'  " 

"  Why,  even  then  it  may  not  come  to  their  ears. 
Best  bring  Fanny  and  your  mother  soon  to  France. 
Madge  will  never  tell,  if  she  learns ;  I'll  warrant  her 
for  that.  To  think  of  it !  —  the  dear  old  house  in 


THE   LAST,   AND  MOST  EVENTFUL.  397 

Queen  Street,  and  the  boys  and  girls  we  used  to  play 
with  —  Tom's  fate  —  and  now  Ned's — Fanny  in 
England  —  and  Madge  —  !  Was  ever  such  diversity 
of  destinies  in  so  small  a  family  ?  " 

He  fell  into  his  thoughts  :  of  what  strange  parts 
we  play  in  the  world,  how  different  from  those  any 
body  would  predict  for  us  in  our  childhood  —  how 
different  from  those  we  then  predict  for  ourselves. 
And  so  we  were  borne  across  the  Thames,  looking 
back  to  get  our  last  view  of  St.  Paul's  dome  for  some 
time  to  come  ;  through  Southwark,  and  finally  into 
the  country.  The  postilions  kept  the  horses  at  a 
good  gait  Southward.  We  did  not  urge  them  to 
this,  for  indeed  we  saw  but  little  necessity  for  great 
haste,  as  there  was  likely  to  be  some  time  ere  Fal 
coner's  death  became  known  to  the  authorities,  and 
some  time  longer  ere  it  was  traced  to  us.  But  as 
Mr.  Idsleigh,  before  getting  out  of  the  way  himself, 
tnigJit  take  means  to  lay  written  information  against 
us,  which  would  serve  at  least  to  put  the  minions  of 
the  law  on  the  right  track,  and  as  we  might  be  sub 
jected  to  some  delay  at  Hastings,  we  saw  no  reason 
to  repress  the  postilions'  zeal,  either. 

In  our  second  stage  we  were  not  favoured  with  so 
energetic  conductors,  and  in  our  third  we  had  unfit 
horses.  So  we  had  occasion  to  be  glad  of  our  excel 
lent  start.  Thus,  between  good  horses  and  bad,  live 
postilions  and  lethargic,  smooth  roads  and  rough,  we 


PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

fared  on  the  whole  rather  well  than  ill,  and  felt  but 
the  smallest  apprehension  of  being  caught.  To 
speak  metaphorically,  the  coast  of  France  was  already 
in  our  sight. 

At  the  end  of  the  first  stage,  we  had  breakfasted 
upon  eggs  and  beer.  We  took  an  early  dinner  at 
Tunbridge  Wells,  and  proceeded  through  Sussex. 
'Twas  well  forward  in  the  afternoon,  and  we  were 
already  preparing  our  eyes,  faces,  and  nostrils  for  the 
refreshing  intimation  of  the  sea,  when  our  ears  notified 
us  of  a  vehicle  following  in  our  wake.  Looking  back, 
at  a  bend  of  the  road,  we  saw  it  was  a  conveyance 
similar  to  our  own,  and  that  the  postilions  were 
whipping  the  horses  to  their  utmost  speed.  "  Who 
ever  rides  there,"  said  I,  "  has  paid  or  promised  well 
for  haste." 

"  Tis  strange  there  should  be  other  folk  bound 
in  a  hurry  for  Hastings  this  same  day,"  replied 
Phil. 

We  looked  at  one  another,  with  the  same  thought. 

"Their  post-boys  seem  to  be  watching  our  chaise 
as  much  as  anything  else,"  I  remarked.  "To  be 
sure,  they  can't  know  'tis  you  and  I." 

"  No,  but  if  they  were  in  quest  of  us,  they  would 
try  to  overtake  this  chaise  or  any  other  on  the  road. 
Ho,  postilion  !  —  an  extra  crown  apiece  for  yourselves 
if  you  leave  those  fellows  yonder  behind  for  good." 
And  Phil  added  quietly  to  me :  "  It  won't  do  to 


THE  LAST,   AND   MOST  EVENTFUL.          399 

offer    'em  too    much    at    first  —  'twould    make   'em 
suspicious." 

"  But,"  quoth  I,  as  our  men  put  their  horses  to  the 
gallop.  "  How  the  devil  could  any  one  have  got  so 
soon  upon  our  track  ?  " 

"Why,  Idsleigh  may  have  turned  informer,  in  his 
own  interest  —  he  was  in  a  devilish  difficult  position 
—  and  men  would  be  sent  with  our  descriptions  to 
the  post-houses.  'Tis  merely  possible.  Or  our 
hackney-coachman  may  have  guessed  something,  and 
dogged  me  to  the  Strand,  and  informed.  If  they 
found  where  we  started,  of  course  they  could  track 
us  from  stage  to  stage.  'Tis  best  to  be  safe  — 
though  I  scarce  think  they're  in  our  pursuit." 

"Egad,  they're  in  somebody's!"  I  cried.  "Their 
postilions  are  shouting  to  ours  to  stop." 

"  Never  mind  those  fellows'  holloing,"  called  Philip 
to  our  riders.  "'Tis  a  wager  —  and  I'll  double  that 
crown  apiece." 

We  bowled  over  the  road  in  a  way  to  make  me 
think  of  Apollo's  chariot  and  the  horses  of  Phaeton ; 
but  we  lengthened  not  a  rod  the  stretch  betwixt  us 
and  our  followers,  though  we  nullified  their  efforts  to 
diminish  it.  We  could  make  out,  more  by  sight  than  by 
hearing  —  for  we  kept  looking  back,  our  heads  thrust 
out  at  either  side  —  that  the  pursuing  post-boys  con 
tinued  bawling  vehemently  at  ours.  What  they  said, 
was  drowned  by  the  clatter  of  horses  and  wheels. 


400  PHILIP    WIN  WOOD. 

"Well,  they  have  seen  we  are  two  men,"  said 
Philip,  "and  still  they  keep  up  the  race.  They 
certainly  must  want  us.  Were  they  merely  in  a 
hurry  to  reach  Hastings,  they  could  do  that  the 
sooner  by  sparing  their  horses  —  this  is  a  killing 
pace." 

"  Then  we're  in  a  serious  plight,"  said  I.  "  Though 
we  may  beat  'em  to  Hastings,  they  will  catch  us  there." 

"  Unless  we  can  gain  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  start, 
and,  by  one  chance  in  twenty,  find  the  Doughty  boys 
ashore,  and  their  boat  in  harbour." 

"Ay,  there's  one  chance  in  twenty,  maybe,"  I 
growled,  looking  gloomily  back,  and  wishing  I  might 
see  the  pursuing  chaise  upset,  or  one  of  its  horses 
stumble. 

There  is  an  old  proverb  about  evil  wishes  rebound 
ing  to  strike  the  sender ;  and  a  recollection  of  this 
was  my  paramount  thought  a  moment  later :  for  at 
a  sharp  turn  our  chaise  suddenly  seemed  to  leap  into 
the  air  and  alight  on  one  wheel,  and  then  turned  over 
sidewise  with  what  appeared  to  be  a  solemn  delibera 
tion,  piling  me  upon  Philip  in  a  heap.  We  felt  the 
conveyance  dragged  some  yards  along  the  road,  and 
then  it  came  to  a  stop.  A  moment  later  we  heard 
the  postilions  cursing  the  horses,  and  then  we 
clambered  out  of  the  upper  side  of  the  chaise,  and 
leaped  into  the  road.  We  had  been  knocked,  shaken, 
and  bruised,  but  were  not  seriously  hurt. 


THE  LAST,   AND  MOST  EVENTFUL.  401 

"  Here's  the  devil  to  pay,"  cried  the  older  postilion 
excitedly,  turning  his  attention  from  the  trembling 
horses  to  the  wrecked  vehicle. 

"  We  will  pay  —  but  you  will  let  us  ride  your 
horses  the  rest  of  the  way?"  asked  Phil,  quietly, 
rather  as  a  matter  of  form  than  with  any  hope  of 
success. 

"  No,  sir  !  "  roared  the  man.  "  Bean't  there  damage 
enough  ?  Just  look  — 

"  Tut,  man,"  said  Phil,  examining  the  chaise,  "  a 
guinea  will  mend  all  —  and  there  it  is,  and  your 
extra  crowns,  too,  though  you  failed.  Well,"  he 
added,  turning  to  me,  "  shall  we  take  to  the  fields  ? 
They'll  have  to  hunt  us  afoot  then,  and  we  may  beat 
'em  at  that." 

But  I  found  I  was  too  lame,  from  the  knocking 
about  I  had  got  in  the  upset  vehicle,  for  any  game 
of  hare  and  hounds.  "  Go  you,"  said  I.  "  I  was 
only  the  second  —  there's  less  danger  for  me." 

"  I'll  not  go,  then,"  said  he.  "  What  a  pity  I  drew 
you  into  this,  Bert !  I  ought  to  have  considered 
Fanny  and  your  mother.  They'll  never  forgive  me 
—  they  never  ought  to.  —  Well,  now  we  shall  know 
the  worst !  " 

The  second  vehicle  came  to  a  triumphant  stop 
near  us,  the  postilions  grinning  with  satisfaction. 
Phil  and  I  stood  passive  in  the  road  :  I  remember 
wondering  whether  the  officers  of  the  law  would  put 


4O2  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

handcuffs  upon  us.  A  head  was  thrust  out  of  the 
window  —  a  voice  called  to  us. 

"  Madge  !  "  we  cried  together,  and  hastened  to  her. 

"  I  was  afraid  you  might  sail  before  I  got  to 
Hastings,"  cried  she,  with  relief  and  joy  depicted  on 
her  face. 

"  Who  is  with  you  ?  "  asked  Phil. 

"  No  one,"  she  answered.  "  I  left  Bert's  letter 
with  my  maid,  to  give  to  Fanny.  I  left  the  girl  too, 
to  stay  with  her  if  she  will  take  her.  I  didn't  wish 
to  encumber  —  Your  chaise  is  broken  down  :  get 
into  this  one.  Oh,  Phil !  —  I  couldn't  bear  to  have 
you  go  away  —  and  leave  me  —  after  I  had  seen  you 
again.  'Twas  something  to  know  you  were  in  Lon 
don,  at  least  —  near  me.  But  if  you  go  to  France 
-you  must  let  me  go,  too  —  you  must,  dear- — as 
your  friend,  your  comrade  and  helper,  if  nothing 
more  —  your  old  friend,  that  knew  you  so  long 
ago  —  " 

She  lost  voice  here,  and  began  to  cry,  still  looking 
at  him  through  the  mist  of  tears.  His  own  eyes 
glistened  softly  as  he  returned  her  gaze ;  and,  after 
a  moment,  he  went  close  to  the  window  through 
which  her  head  was  thrust,  raised  his  hand  so  as  to 
stroke  her  hair,  and  kissed  her  on  the  lips. 

"  Why,  you  shall  come  as  my  wife,  of  course,"  said 
he,  gently.  "  If  I  had  been  sure  you  wished  it,  you 
might  have  travelled  with  us  from  London,  and  been 


THE  LAST,   AND   MOST  EVENTFUL.  403 

spared  this  chase.  —  But  think  what  you  are  giving 
up,  dear  —  'tis  not  too  late  —  the  theatre,  the  praise 
and  admiration,  London  — 

"  Oh,  hang  'em  all ! "  cried  she,  looking  joyous 
through  her  tears.  "  'Tis  you  I  want !  " 

And  she  caught  his  face  between  her  hands,  and 
kissed  it  a  dozen  times,  to  the  open-mouthed  wonder 
of  the  staring  postilions. 

She  took  us  in  her  post-chaise  to  Hastings,  where 
the  three  of  us  embarked  as  we  had  planned  to  do, 
having  first  arranged  that  one  of  the  Doughty  boys 
should  go  to  Hampstead  and  act  as  a  sort  of  man 
servant  or  protector  to  my  mother  and  Fanny  during 
their  loneliness.  They  joined  us  later  in  Paris,  and 
I  finally  accompanied  them  home  when  Captain 
Falconer's  fatal  duel  was  a  forgotten  matter. 
Philip  and  Madge  then  visited  Italy  and  Germany; 
and  subsequently  returned  to  New  York,  having 
courageously  chosen  to  outface  what  old  scandal 
remained  from  the  time  of  her  flight.  And  so, 
despite  Phil's  prediction,  'tis  finally  his  children, 
not  mine,  that  gladden  the  age  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Faringfield,  and  have  brought  back  the  old-time 
cheer  to  the  house ;  for  Fanny  and  I  have  remained 
in  England,  and  here  our  young  ones  are  being  reared. 
Each  under  the  government  for  which  he  fought  — 
thus  Philip  and  I  abide.  'Tis  no  news,  that  Phil  has 


404  PHILIP    WINWOOD. 

become  one  of  the  leading  architects  in  his  country. 
My  own  life  has  been  pleasantly  monotonous,  save 
for  the  duel  I  fought  against  a  detractor  of  General 
Washington,  which,  as  I  merely  wounded  my  adver 
sary,  did  not  necessitate  another  exile  from  the 
kingdom. 

It  is  still  an  unsolved  mystery  in  London,  as  to 
what  became  of  Miss  Warren,  the  actress  of  Drury 
Lane  :  she  was  for  long  reported  to  have  been  carried 
away  by  a  strange  gentleman  who  killed  Captain  Fal 
coner  in  a  duel  over  her.  Tis  not  known  in  New 
York  that  Mrs.  Winwood  was  ever  on  the  stage. 
And  as  I  must  not  yet  make  it  known,  nor  disclose 
many  things  which  have  perforce  entered  into  this 
history,  I  perceive  that  my  labour  has  been,  after  all, 
to  no  purpose.  I  dare  not  give  the  narrative  to  the 
world,  now  it  is  done ;  but  I  cannot  persuade  myself 
to  give  it  to  the  fire,  either.  Let  it  lie  hid,  then,  till 
all  of  us  concerned  in  it  are  passed  away ;  and  per 
chance  it  may  serve  to  instruct  some  future  reader 
how  much  a  transient  vanity  and  wilfulness  may 
wreck,  and  how  much  a  steadfast  love  and  courage 
may  retrieve. 

THE    END. 


NOTES. 


NOTES. 


NOTE  i  (Page  13). 

BEFORE  the  Revolution,  there  were  Queen  Street  and 
Pearl  Street,  together  forming  a  line  continuous  though 
not  exactly  straight  After  the  Revolution,  the  whole 
line  was  named  Pearl  Street.  King  Street  and  Duke 
Street  were  others  that  rightly  underwent  re-christening. 
But,  with  equal  propriety,  many  old  names  smacking  of 
the  English  regime  were  retained,  and  serve  as  memorials 
of  the  English  part  of  the  city's  colonial  history :  such 
names,  for  instance,  as  William  Street,  Nassau  Street, 
Hanover  Square,  Kingsbridge  ;  not  to  mention  New  York 
itself.  The  old  Dutch  rule,  too,  remains  marked  in  the 
city's  nomenclature  - —  for  ever,  let  us  hope.  I  say,  "  let  us 
hope ; "  for  there  have  been  attempts  to  have  the  authori 
ties  change  the  name  of  the  Bowery  itself,  that  renowned 
thoroughfare  which  began,  in  the  very  morn  of  the  city's 
history,  as  a  lane  leading  to  Peter  Stuyvesant's  bauer.  I 
scarce  think  this  desecration  shall  ever  come  to  pass : 
yet  in  such  matters  one  may  not  be  sure  of  a  nation 
which  has  permitted  the  spoiling  (by  the  mutilation  of 

407 


408  NOTES. 

headlands  and  cliffs,  for  private  gain)  of  a  river  the  most 
storied  in  our  own  land,  and  the  most  beautiful  in  the 

world. 

NOTE  2  (Page  34). 

In  1595  was  published  in  London  :  "  Vincentio  Saviolo 
his  Practise.  In  two  Bookes.  The  first  intreating  the  use 
of  the  Rapier  and  Dagger.  The  second  of  Honour  and 
Honourable  Quarrels."  (Etc.)  The  celebrated  swords 
man  sets  forth  only  the  Italian  system,  and  has  naught 
to  say  upon  the  French.  The  book  that  Winwood 
studied  may  have  been  some  reprint  (now  unknown), 
with  notes  or  additions  by  a  later  hand.  In  any  case,  he 
may  have  acquired  through  it  sufficient  rudimentary 
acquaintance  with  some  sort  of  practice  to  enable  him  to 
excite  the  French  fencing-master's  interest. 

NOTE  3  (Page  182). 

"  Lady  Washington's  Light  Horse  "  was  a  name  some 
times  unofficially  applied  to  Lieut.-Col.  Baylor's  Dragoons. 
They  were  sleeping  in  a  barn  and  outbuildings,  at  Old 
Tajjpan,  one  night  in  the  Fall  of  1778,  when  they  were 
surprised  by  General  Grey,  whose  men,  attacking  with 
bayonets,  killed  n,  mangled  25,  and  took  about  40  pris 
oners.  Both  Col.  Baylor  and  Major  Clough  were  wounded, 
the  latter  fatally.  It  is  of  course  this  affair,  to  which 
Lieut.  Russell's  narrative  alludes. 

NOTE  4  (Page  191). 

The  Morris  house,  now  known  as  the  Jumel  mansion, 
was  half  a  generation  old  at  the  beginning  of  the  Revo- 


NOTES.  409 

lution.  Thither,  as  the  bride  of  Captain  Morris,  a 
brother-officer  of  Washington's  in  the  old  French  war, 
went  Mary  Philipse  ;  whom  young  Washington  was  said 
to  have  wooed  while  he  tarried  in  and  about  New  York 
upon  his  memorable  journey  to  Boston  to  solicit  in  vain, 
of  Governor  Shirley,  a  king's  commission.  The  Revolu 
tion  found  the  Morrises  on  the  side  opposed  to  Washing 
ton's  ;  for  a  short  time  during  the  operations  above  New 
York  in  1776  he  occupied  this  house  of  theirs  as  head 
quarters.  They  lost  it  through  their  allegiance  to  the 
royal  cause,  all  their  American  real  estate  being  con 
fiscated  by  the  New  York  assembly.  The  mansion 
became  in  time  the  residence  of  that  remarkable  woman 
who,  from  a  barefoot  girl  in  Providence,  R.  I.,  had  grown 
up  to  be  the  wife  of  a  Frenchman  named  Jumel ;  and  to 
be  the  object  of  much  admiration,  and  the  subject  of 
some  scandal.  In  her  widowhood  she  received  under 
this  roof  Aaron  Burr,  after  his  duel  with  Hamilton 
(whose  neighbouring  country-house  still  exists,  in  Convent 
Avenue),  and  under  this  roof  she  and  Burr  —  both  in 
their  old  age  —  were  united  in  marriage.  I  imagine  that 
some  of  the  ghosts  that  haunt  this  mansion,  if  they  might 
be  got  in  a  corner,  would  yield  their  interviewers  a  quaint 
reminiscence  or  two.  The  grounds  appertaining  to  the 
house  have  been  sadly  diminished  by  the  opening  of  new 
streets  ;  yet  it  is  still  a  fine,  striking  landmark,  perched 
to  be  seen  afar,  as  from  the  railroad  trains  that  follow 
the  East  bank  of  the  Harlem,  or,  better,  from  West  iS5th 
Street  at  and  about  its  junction  with  St.  Nicholas  Place 
and  the  Speedway.  At  the  time  when  I  left  New  York 


410  NOTES. 

for  a  temporary  residence  in  the  Old  World,  there  was  talk 
of  moving  the  house  to  a  less  commanding,  but  still  emi 
nent,  height  that  crowns  the  bluff  rising  from  the  Speed 
way  :  the  owner  was  compelled,  it  was  said,  to  avail  him 
self  of  the  increased  value  of  the  land  Arhereon  it  stood. 
'Tis  some  pity  if  this  has  been,  or  has  to  be,  done  ;  but 
nothing  to  the  pity  if  the  mansion  had  to  be  pulled  down. 
Apart  from  all  associations  and  historical  interest,  this 
imposing  specimen  of  our  Colonial  domestic  architecture, 
so  simple  and  reposeful  an  edifice  amidst  a  world  of  flat 
buildings,  and  of  gew-gaw  houses  built  for  sale  on  the 
instalment  plan  to  the  ubiquitous  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Veneer 
ing,  is  a  precious  relief,  nay  an  untiring  delight,  to  the 
eye. 

NOTE  5  (Page  202). 

During  this  Winter  (1779-80)  the  Continental  army 
was  in  two  main  divisions.  The  one  with  which  Wash 
ington  made  his  headquarters  was  hutted  on  the  heights 
about  Morristown,  N.  J.  The  other,  under  General 
Heath,  was  stationed  in  the  highlands  of  the  Hudson. 
Intermediate  territory,  of  course,  was  more  or  less 
thoroughly  guarded  by  detached  posts,  militia,  and  various 
forces  regular  and  irregular.  The  most  of  the  cavalry 
was  quartered  in  Connecticut ;  but  Winwood's  troop,  as 
our  narrative  shows,  was  established  near  Washington's 
headquarters.  This  was  a  memorably  cold  Winter,  and  as 
severe  upon  the  patriots  as  the  more  famous  Winter 
(1777-78)  at  Valley  Forge.  About  the  latter  part  of  Jan 
uary  the  Hudson  was  frozen  over,  almost  to  its  mouth. 


NOTES.  411 

NOTE  6  (Page  269). 

Long  before  I  fell  upon  Lieut.  Russell's  narrative,  a 
detailed  account  of  a  British  attempt  to  capture  Wash 
ington,  by  a  bold  night  dash  upon  his  quarters  at  Mor- 
ristown,  had  caught  my  eyes  from  the  pages  of  the  old 
"  New  Jersey  Historical  Collections."  Washington  was 
not  the  only  object  of  such  designs  during  the  War  of 
Independence.  One  was  planned  for  the  seizure  of  Gov 
ernor  Livingstone  at  his  home  in  Elizabeth,  N.  J. ;  but, 
much  to  Sir  Henry  Clinton's  disappointment,  that  influen 
tial  and  witty  champion  of  independence  was  not  at  home 
when  the  surprise  party  called. 

NOTE  7  (Page  277). 

Lieut-Gen.  Knyphausen  was  now  (January,  1780)  tem 
porarily  in  chief  command  at  New  York,  as  Sir  Henry 
Clinton  and  Lord  Cornwallis  had  sailed  South  (December 
26,  1779)  to  attack  Charleston  and  reduce  South  Carolina. 

NOTE  8  (Page  311). 

At  that  time,  the  Bristol  and  Bath  stage-coaches  took 
two  days  for  the  trip  to  London.  Madge  doubtless 
would  have  slept  a  night  or  two  at  Bristol  after  her  land 
ing  ;  and  probably  at  the  Pelican  Inn  at  Speenhamland 
(opposite  Newbury),  the  usual  midway  sleeping-place,  at 
the  end  of  the  first  day's  ride.  But  bad  weather  may 
have  hindered  the  journey,  and  required  the  passengers 
to  pass  more  than  one  night  as  inn-guests  upon  the 
road. 


412  NOTES. 

NOTE  9  (Page  325). 

Mrs.  Sheridan's  surpassing  beauty,  talent,  and  amia 
bility  are  well-known  to  all  readers ;  as  is  the  fact  that 
her  brilliant  husband,  despite  their  occasional  quarrels, 
was  very  much  in  love  with  her  from  first  to  last. 

NOTE    10   (Page   359). 

Sir  Ralph  Winwood,  born  at  Aynho,  in  Northampton 
shire,  in  1564,  was  frequently  sent  as  envoy  to  Holland 
in  the  reign  of  James  I.,  by  whom  he  was  knighted  in 
1603.  He  was  Secretary  of  State  from  a  date  in  1614 
till  his  death  in  1617.  His  collected  papers  and  letters 
are  entitled,  "  Memorials  of  Affairs  of  State  in  the  Reigns 
of  Queen  Elizabeth  and  King  James  I.,"  etc.  His 
portrait  painted  by  Miereveldt,  is  in  the  National  Portrait 
Gallery  in  London. 


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HANNES  REIMERS. 
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We  take  pleasure  in  introducing  to  the  reading  public  a  writer  of 
unique  charm  and  individuality.  His  style  is  notable  for  its  quaint 
poetic  idiom  and  subtle  imaginative  flavor.  In  the  present  story,  he 
treats  with  strength  and  reticence  of  the  relation  of  the  sexes  and 
the  problem  of  marriage.  Certain  social  abuses  and  false  standards 
of  morality  are  attacked  with  great  vigor,  yet  the  plot  is  so  interest 
ing  for  its  own  sake  that  the  book  gives  no  suspicion  of  being  a 
problem  novel.  The  descriptions  of  natural  scenery  are  idyllic  in 
their  charm,  and  form  a  fitting  background  for  the  Icve  story. 


LIST    OF    NEW    FICTION 


The  Black  Terror.    A  ROMANCE  OF  RUSSIA.    By  JOHN 

K.  LEYS. 

With  frontispiece  by  Victor  A.  Searles. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  350  pages  .         .         .         $1.50 

A  stirring  tale  of  the  present  day,  presenting  in  a  new  light  the 
aims  and  objects  of  the  Nihilists.  The  story  is  so  vivid  and  true  to 
life  that  it  might  easily  be  considered  a  history  of  political  intrigue 
in  Russia,  disguised  as  a  novel,  while  its  startling  incidents  and 
strange  denouement  would  only  confirm  the  old  adage  that  "  truth 
is  stranger  than  fiction,"  and  that  great  historical  events  may  be 
traced  to  apparently  insignificant  causes.  The  hero  of  the  story 
is  a  young  Englishman,  whose  startling  resemblance  to  the  Czar  is 
taken  advantage  of  by  the  Nihilists  for  the  furtherance  of  their 
plans. 

The   Baron's    Sons.     By  MAURUS  JOKAI. 

Author  of  "  Black  Diamonds,"  "  The    Green    Book,"  "  Pretty 
Michal,"  etc.     Translated  by  Percy  F.  Bicknell. 

Library    I2mo,    cloth    decorative,  with  photogravure 

portrait  of  the  author,  350  pages  .         .         .         .         $1.50 

An  exceedingly  interesting  romance  of  the  revolution  of  1848, 
ths  scene  of  which  is  laid  at  the  courts  of  St.  Petersburg,  Moscow, 
and  Vienna,  and  in  the  armies  of  the  Austrians  and  Hungarians. 
It  follows  the  fortunes  of  three  young  Hungarian  noblemen,  whose 
careers  are  involved  in  the  historical  incidents  of  the  time.  The 
story  is  told  with  all  of  Jokai's  dash  and  vigor,  and  is  exceedingly 
interesting.  This  romance  has  been  translated  for  us  directly  from 
the  Hungarian,  and  never  has  been  issued  hitherto  in  English. 


Slaves    Of    Chance.      By  FERRIER  LANGWORTHY. 

With  five  portraits  of  the  heroines,  from  original  drawings  by 

Kiel. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  gilt  top,  350  pages      .         $1.50 

As  a  study  of  some  of  the  realities  of  London  life,  this  novel  is 
one  of  notable  merit.  The  slaves  of  chance,  and,  it  might  be  added, 
of  temptation,  are  five  pretty  girls,  the  daughters  of  a  pretty  widow, 
whose  means  are  scarcely  sufficient,  even  living  as  they  do,  in  a 
quiet  way  and  in  a  quiet  London  street,  to  make  both  ends  meet. 
Dealing,  as  he  does,  with  many  sides  of  London  life,  the  writer 
sketches  varied  types  of  character,  and  his  creations  are  cleverly 
defined.  He  tells  an  interesting  tale  with  delicacy  and  in  a  fresh, 
attractive  style. 


L.    C.    PAGE    AND    COMPANY*S 


Her  Boston   Experiences.    By  MARGARET  ALLSTON 

(nom  de  plume). 

With  eighteen  full-page  illustrations  from  drawings  by  Frank 
O.  Small,  and  from  photographs  taken  especially  for  the 
book. 

Small  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  gilt  top,  225  pages         .         $1.25 

A  most  interesting  and  vivacious  tale,  dealing  with  society  life 
at  the  Hub,  with  perhaps  a  tinge  of  the  flavor  of  Vagabondia.  The 
story  has  appeared  serially  in  The  Ladies'  Home  Journal,  where  it 
was  received  with  marked  success.  We  are  not  as  yet  at  liberty  to 
give  the  true  name  of  the  author,  who  hides  her  identity  under  the 
pen  name,  Margaret  Allston,  but  she  is  well  known  in  literature. 

Memory  Street.       By  MARTHA  BAKER  DUNN. 
Author  of  "  The  Sleeping  Beauty,"  etc. 
Library  1 2mo,  cloth  decorative,  300  pages   .         .         .         $1.25 

An  exceedingly  beautiful  story,  delineating  New  England  life  and 
character.  The  style  and  interest  will  compare  favorably  with  the 
work  of  such  writers  as  Mary  E.  Wilkins,  Kate  Douglas  Wiggin, 
and  Sarah  Orne  Jewett.  The  author  has  been  a  constant  con 
tributor  to  the  leading  magazines,  and  the  interest  of  her  previous 
work  will  assure  welcome  for  her  first  novel. 

Winifred.      A    STORY    OF    THE    CHALK    CLIFFS.     By    S. 

BARING  GOULD. 
Author  of  "  Mehala,"  etc. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated,  350  pages  .         $1.50 

A  striking  novel  of  English  life  in  the  eighteenth  century  by  this 
well  known  writer.  The  scene  is  laid  partly  in  rural  Devonshire, 
and  partly  in  aristocratic  London  circles. 

At  the  Court  Of  the  King:  BEING  ROMANCES  OF 
FRANCE.  By  G.  HEMBERT  WESTLEY,  editor  of  "  For  Love's 
Sweet  Sake." 

With  a  photogravure  frontispiece  from  an  original  drawing. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  300  pages   .         .         .         $1.25 

Despite  the  prophecies  of  some  literary  experts,  the  historical 
romance  is  still  on  the  high  tide  of  popular  favor,  as  exemplified  by 
many  recent  successes.  We  feel  justified,  consequently,  in  issuing 
these  stirring  romances  of  intrigue  and  adventure,  love  and  war,  at 
the  Courts  of  the  French  Kings. 


LIST    OF    NEW    FICTION 


Rebel.       By  HULBERT  FULLER. 
Author  of  "  Vivian  of  Virginia." 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  375  pages    .         .         .         $1.25 

A  powerful  story  of  sociological  questions.  The  scene  is  laid  in 
Chicago,  the  hero  being  a  professor  in  "  Rockland  University," 
whose  protest  against  the  unequal  distribution  of  wealth  and  the 
wretched  condition  of  workmen  gains  for  him  the  enmity  of  the 
"Savior  Oil  Company,"  through  whose  influence  he  loses  his  posi 
tion.  His  after  career  as  a  leader  of  laborers  who  are  fighting 
to  obtain  their  rights  is  described  with  great  earnestness.  The 
character  drawing  is  vigorous  and  varied,  and  the  romantic  plot 
holds  the  interest  throughout.  The  Albany  Journal  is  right  in 
pronouncing  this  novel  "  an  unusually  strong  story."  It  can  hardly 
fail  to  command  an  immense  reading  public. 


A  Georgian  ActreSS.   By  PAULINE  BRADFORD  MACKIE. 
Author   of   "  Mademoiselle     de     Berny,"    "  Ye    Lyttle    Salem 

Maide,"  etc. 
With  four  full-page  illustrations  from  drawings  by  E.  W.  D. 

Hamilton. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  gilt  top,  300  pages      .         $1-50 

An  interesting  romance  of  the  days  of  George  III.,  dealing  with 
the  life  and  adventures  of  a  fair  and  talented  young  play-actress, 
the  scene  of  which  is  laid  in  England  and  America.  The  success  of 
Miss  Mackie's  previous  books  will  justify  our  prediction  that  a  new 
volume  will  receive  an  instant  welcome. 

God — The  King — fly  Brother.    A  ROMANCE. 

By  MARY  F.  NIXON. 
Author  of  "  With  a  Pessimist  in  Spain,"  "  A  Harp  of  Many 

Chords,"  etc. 

With  a  frontispiece  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  300  pages  .         .         .         $1.25 

An  historical  tale,  dealing  with  the  romantic  period  of  Edward 
the  Black  Prince.  The  scene  is  laid  for  the  most  part  in  the 
sunny  land  of  Spain,  during  the  reign  of  Pedro  the  Cruel  — 
the  ally  in  war  of  the  Black  Prince.  The  well-told  story  records 
the  adventures  of  two  young  English  knight-errants,  twin  brothers, 
whose  family  motto  gives  the  title  to  the  book.  The  Spanish  maid, 
the  heroine  of  the  romance,  is  a  delightful  characterization,  and  the 
love  story,  with  its  surprising  yet  logical  denouement,  is  enthralling. 


L.    C.    PAGE    AND    COMPANY  S 


Punchinello.       By  FLORENCE  STUART. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  gilt  top,  325  pages      .         $1.50 

A  love  story  of  intense  power  and  pathos.  The  hero  is  a  hunch 
back  (Punchinello),  who  wins  the  love  of  a  beautiful  young  girl. 
Her  sudden  death,  due  indirectly  to  his  jealousy,  and  the  discovery 
that  she  had  never  faltered  in  her  love  for  him,  combine  to  unbalance 
his  mind.  The  poetic  style  relieves  the  sadness  of  the  story,  and 
the  reader  is  impressed  with  the  power  and  brilliancy  of  its  concep 
tion,  as  well  as  with  the  beauty  and  grace  of  the  execution. 

The    Golden     Fleece.      Translated  from   the   French  of 
Amedee   Achard,  author   of   "  The   Huguenot's   Love,"  etc. 
Illustrated  by  Victor  A.  Searles. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated,  450  pages  .         $  1.50 

Amedee  Achard  was  a  contemporary  writer  of  Dumas,  and  his 
romances  are  very  similar  to  those  of  that  great  writer.  "  The 
Golden  Fleece"  compares  favorably  with  "The  Three  Musketeers  " 
and  the  other  D'Artagnan  romances.  The  story  relates  the  adven 
tures  of  a  young  Gascon  gentleman,  an  officer  in  the  army  sent  by 
Louis  XIV.  to  assist  the  Austrians  in  repelling  the  Turkish  Invasion 
under  the  celebrated  Achmet  Kiuperli. 

The    Good    Ship    York.       By  W.  CLARK  RUSSELL. 
Author  of  "The  Wreck  of  the  Grosvtnor"  "  A  Sailor's  Sweet 
heart,"  etc. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated,  350  pages          $i  50 

A  romantic  and  exciting  sea  tale,  equal  to  the  best  work  of  this 
famous  writer,  relating  the  momentous  voyage  of  the  clipper  ship 
York,  and  the  adventures  that  befell  Julia  Armstrong,  a  passenger, 
and  George  Hardy,  the  chief  mate. 

"  Mr.  Russell  has  no  rival  in  the  line  of  marine  fiction."  —  Mail  and  Express. 

Tom    Ossington's    GhOSt.       By  RICHARD  MARSH. 
Author  of  "  Frivolities,"  "  Ada  Vernham,  Actress,"  etc.     Illus* 

trated  by  Harold  Pifford. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  gilt  top,  325  pages      .         $1.50 

"  I  read  '  Tom  Ossington's  Ghost '  the  other  night,  and  was  afraid  to  go  up-stairs 
in  the  dark  after  it."  —  Truth. 

"An  entrancing  book,  but  people  with  weak  nerves  had  better  not  read  it  at 
night."  —  To-day. 

"  Mr.  Marsh  has  been  inspired  by  an  entirely  original  idea,  and  has  worked  it  out 
with  great  ingenuity.  We  like  the  weird  but  not  repulsive  story  better  than  anything 
he  has  ever  done."  —  World. 


LIST    OF    NEW    FICTION 


The  Glory  and  Sorrow  of  Norwich.     sy 

M.  M.  BLAKE. 
Author   of   "  The    Blues    and   the    Brigands,"    etc.,    etc.,    with 

twelve  full-page  illustrations. 
Library  12010,  cloth  decorative,  gilt  top,  315  pages      .         $1.50 

The  hero  of  this  romance,  Sir  John  de  Reppes,  is  an  actual 
personage,  and  throughout  the  characters  and  incidents  are  instinct 
with  the  spirit  of  the  age,  as  related  in  the  chronicles  of  Froissart. 
Its  main  claim  for  attention,  however,  is  in  the  graphic  representa 
tion  of  the  age  of  chivalry  which  it  gives,  forming  a  series  of  brilliant 
and  fascinating  pictures  of  mediaeval  England,  its  habits  of  thought 
and  manner  of  life,  which  live  in  the  mind  for  many  a  day  after 
perusal,  and  assist  to  a  clearer  conception  of  what  is  one  of  the  most 
charming  and  picturesque  epochs  of  history. 

The  nistress  of  flaidenwood.    sy  HULBERT 

FULLER. 

Author  of  "  Vivian  of  Virginia,"  "  God's  Rebel,"  etc. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  350  pages   .         .         .         $1-50 
A  stirring  historical   romance  of  the  American  Revolution,  the 
scene  of  which  for  the  most  part  being  laid  in  and  about  the  debatable 
ground  in  the  vicinity  of  New  York  City. 


A  TALE  OF  A  LOST  CAUSE.  By  CAPTAIN  EWAN 

MARTIN. 

Author  of  "  The  Knight  of  King's  Guard." 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  400  pages,  illustrated  .         $1.50 

A  stirring  romance  of  the  days  of  Charles  I.  and  Cromwell  in 
England  and  Ireland.  In  its  general  character  the  book  invites 
comparison  with  Scott's  "  Waverley."  It  well  sustains  the  reputa 
tion  gained  by  Captain  Martin  from  "  The  Knight  of  King's  Guard." 

The    Flame    Of    Life.        (IL  FUOCO.)     Translated  from 

the  Italian  of  Gabriel  D'Annunzio,  author  of  "  Triumph  of 

Death,"   etc.,   by    KASSANDRA    VIVARIA,   author   of    "  Via 

Lucis." 

Library  1  2mo,  cloth  decorative,  350  pagf--s  .         .         .         $1.50 

This  is  the  first  volume  in  the  Third  Trilogy,  "The  Romances 
of  the  Pomegranate,"  of  the  three  announced  by  the  great  Italian 
writer.  We  were  fortunate  in  securing  the  book,  and  also  in  securing 
the  services  as  translator  of  the  talented  author  of  "  Via  Lucis," 
herself  an  Italian  by  birth. 


An  Enemy  to  the  King.     (Thirtieth  Thousand.) 

FROM    THE    RECENTLY    DISCOVERED    MEMOIRS    OF    THE 
SlEUR  DE  LA  TOURNOIRE.     By   ROBERT   NEILSON    STE 

PHENS. 

Illustrated  by  H.  De  M.  Young. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  gilt  top,  460  pages      .         $1.50 

"  Brilliant  as  a  play  ;  it  is  equally  brilliant  as  a  romantic  novel."  —  Philadelphia 
Press. 

"  Those  who  love  chivalry,  fighting,  and  intrigue  will  find  it,  and  of  good  quality, 
in  this  book."  —  New  York  Critic. 

The  Continental  Dragoon.  (Eighteenth  Thousand.-) 

A  ROMANCE   OF   PHILIPSE   MANOR   HOUSE,  IN  1778.     By 

ROBERT  NEILSON  STEPHENS. 
Author  of  "An  Enemy  to  the  King." 
Illustrated  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 
Library  1  2mo,  cloth  decorative,  300  pages  .         .         .         $1.50 

"  It  has  the  sterling  qualities  of  strong  dramatic  writing,  and  ranks  among  the 
most  spirited  and  ably  written  historical  romances  of  the  season.  An  impulsive  ap 
preciation  of  a  soldier  who  is  a  soldier,  a  man  who  is  a  man,  a  hero  who  is  a  hero,  is 
one  of  the  most  captivating  of  Mr.  Stephens's  charms  of  manner  and  style."  — 
Boston  Herald. 


The  Road  tO   PariS.    (Sixteenth  Thousand.)    By  ROBERT 

NEILSON  STEPHENS. 
Author  of  "  An  Enemy  to  the  King,"  "  The  Continental  Dra 

goon,"  etc. 

Illustrated  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  500  pages  .         .         .         $i-$<- 

"  Vivid  and  picturesque  in  style,  well  conceived  and  full  of  action,  the  novel  is 
absorbing  from  cover  to  cover."  —  Philadelphia  Public  Ledger. 

"  In  the  line  of  historical  romance,  few  books  of  the  season  will  equal  Robert 
Neilson  Stephens's  '  The  Road  to  Pans.'  "  —  Cincinnati  Times-Star. 


L.    C.    PAGE    AND    COMPANY  S 


A  Gentleman  Player.   (Thirty-fifth  Thousand.}   HIS 

ADVENTURES  ON  A  SECRET  MISSION  FOR  QUEEN  ELIZA 
BETH.  By  ROBERT  NEILSON  STEPHENS. 

Author  of  "  An  Enemy  to  the  King,"  "  The  Continental  Dra 
goon,"  "  The  Road  to  Paris,"  etc. 

Illustrated  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  450  pages  .         .         .         $1.50 

"  A  thrilling  historical  romance.  ...  It  is  a  well-told  tale  of  mingled  romance 
and  history,  and  the  reader  throughout  unconsciously  joins  in  the  flight  and  thrills 
with  the  excitement  of  the  dangers  and  adventures  that  befall  the  fugitives."  — 
Chicago  Tribune. 

"  '  A  Gentleman  Player '  is  well  conceived  and  well  told."  —  Boston  Journal. 


Charlitte.      (Eighth  Thousand.}     AN  ACADIEN 
ROMANCE.     By  MARSHALL  SAUNDERS, 
Author  of  "  Beautiful  Joe,"  etc. 
Illustrated  by  H.  De  M.  Young. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  500  pages  .         .         .         $  1.50 

*  A  very  fine  novel  we  unhesitatingly  pronounce  it  ...  one  of  the  books  that 
stamp  themselves  at  once  upon  the  imagination  and  remain  imbedded  in  the  memory 
long  after  the  covers  are  closed."  —  Literary  World,  Boston. 


Deficient  Saints.     A  TALE  OF  MAINE.    By  MARSHALL 

SAUNDERS. 

Author  of  "  Rose  a  Charlitte,"  "  Beautiful  Joe,"  etc. 
Illustrated  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 
Library  1 2mo,  cloth  decorative,  400  pages  .         .         .         $1.50 

"  The  tale  is  altogether  delightful ;  it  is  vitally  charming  and  expresses  a  quiet 
power  that  sparkles  with  all  sorts  of  versatile  beauty."  —  Boston  Ideas. 


Sailor.     A  NOVEL.     By  MARSHALL  SAUNDERS. 
Author  of  "  Rose  a  Charlitte,"  "  Beautiful  Joe,"  etc. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated,  325  pages          $l-2S 

A  story  of  modern  life  of  great  charm  and  pathos,  dealing  with 
the  love  affairs  of  an  American  girl  and  a  naval  officer. 

"  A  love  story,  refreshing  and  sweet." —  Utica  Herald. 

"The  wayward  petulance  of  the  maiden,  who  half-resents  the  matter-of-course 
wooing  and  wedding,  her  graceful  coquetry,  and  final  capitulation  are  prettily  told, 
making  a  fine  character  sketch  and  an  entertaining  story."  —  Bookseller,  Chicago. 


LIST    OF    FICTION 


Pretty  iVlichal.  A  ROMANCE  OF  HUNGARY.  By  MAURUS 
JOKAI. 

Author  of  "  Black  Diamonds,"  "  The  Green  Book,"  "  Midst  the 
Wild  Carpathians,"  etc. 

Authorized  translation  by  R.  Nisbet  Bain. 

Illustrated  with  a  photogravure  frontispiece  of  the  great  Mag 
yar  writer. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  325  pages  .         .         .         $1.50 

"  It  is  at  once  a  spirited  tale  of  '  border  chivalry,'  a  charming  love  story  full  of 
genuine  poetry,  and  a  graphic  picture  of  life  in  a  country  and  at  a  period  both  equally 
new  to  English  readers."  —  Literary  World,  London. 

Midst  the  Wild  Carpathians.    ey  MAURUS 

JOKAI. 

Author  of  "  Black  Diamonds,"  "  The  Lion  of  Janina,"  etc. 
Authorized  translation  by  R.  Nisbet  Bain. 
Illustrated  by  J.  W.  Kennedy. 
Library  12 mo,  cloth  decorative,  300  pages  .        .         .        $1-25 

"The  story  is  absorbingly  interesting  and  displays  all  the  virility  of  Jokai's 
powers,  his  genius  of  description,  his  keenness  of  characterization,  his  subtlety  of 
humor,  and  his  consummate  art  in  the  progression  of  the  novel  from  one  apparent 
climax  to  another."  —  Chicago  Evening  Post. 

In    Kings'    Houses.      A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  REIGN  OF 

QUEEN  ANNE.     By  JULIA  C.  R.  DORR. 
Author  of  "  A  Cathedral  Pilgrimage,"  etc. 
Illustrated  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  400  pages  .         .         .         $1*50 

"  We  close  the  book  with  a  wish  that  the  author  may  write  more  romances  of  the 
history  of  England  which  she  knows  so  well."  —  Bookman,  Neiv  York. 

"  A  fine  strong  story  which  is  a  relief  to  come  upon.  Related  with  charming, 
simple  art."  —  Philadelphia  Public  Ledger. 

Omar  the  Tentmaker.    A  ROMANCE  OF  OLD 

PERSIA.     By  NATHAN  HASKELL  DOLE. 
Illustrated  by  F.  T.  Merrill. 
Library  I2tno,  cloth  decorative,  350  pages  .         .         .         $1.50 

"The  story  itself  is  beautiful  and  it  is  beautifully  written.  It  possesses  the  true 
spirit  of  romance,  and  is  almost  poetical  in  form.  The  author  has  undoubtedly  been 
inspired  by  his  admiration  for  the  Rubaiyat  of  Omar  Khayyam  to  write  this  story  of 
which  Omar  is  the  hero." —  Troy  Times. 

"  Mr.  Dole  has  built  a  delightful  romance." —  Chicago  Chronicle. 

"  It  is  a  strong  and  vividly  written  story,  full  of  the  life  and  spirit  of  romance. "•— 
ffew  Orleans  Picayune. 


L.    C.    PAGE    AND    COMPANY  S 


A  TALE  OF  PARIS.     By  ELWYN  BARRON. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated,  350  pages          $1.50 

"  Bright  descriptions  of  student  life  in  Paris,  sympathetic  views  of  human  frailty, 
and  a  dash  of  dramatic  force,  combine  to  form  an  attractive  story.  The  book  contains 
some  very  strong  scenes,  plenty  of  life  and  color,  and  a  pleasant  tinge  of  humor. 
It  has  grip,  picturesqueness,  and  vivacity." —  The  Speaker,  London. 


"A  study  of  deep  human  interest,  in  which  pathos  and  humor  both  play  their 
parts.  The  descriptions  of  life  in  the  Quartier  Latin  are  distinguished  for  their 
freshness  and  liveliness."  —  St.  James  Gazette,  London. 

"A  romance  sweet  as  violets." —  Town  Topics,  New  York. 


In    Old    New    York.     A  ROMANCE.     By  WILSON  BAR 
RETT,  author  of  "  The  Sign  of  the  Cross,"  etc.,  and  ELWYN 
BARRON,  author  of  "  Manders." 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated,  350  pages        $1.50 

"  A  novel  of  great  interest  and  vigor."  —  Philadelphia  Inquirer. 

"  '  In  Old  New  York  '  is  worthy  of  its  distinguished  authors."  —  Chicago  Times- 
Herald. 

"  Intensely  interesting.  It  has  an  historical  flavor  that  gives  it  a  substantial  value." 
—  Boston  Globe. 

The    Golden    Dog.      A    ROMANCE    OF    QUEBEC.      By 

WILLIAM  KIRBY. 
New  authorized  edition. 
Illustrated  by  J.  W.  Kennedy. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  620  pages  .         .         .         $1-25 

"  A  powerful  romance  of  love,  intrigue,  and  adventure  in  the  time  of  Louis  XV. 
and  Mme.  de  Pompadour,  when  the  French  colonies  were  making  their  great 
struggle  to  retain  for  an  ungrateful  court  the  fairest  jewels  in  the  colonial  diadem  of 
France."  —  New  York  Herald. 

The  Knight  of  King's  Guard.  A  ROMANCE  OF 

THE    DAYS    OF   THE    BLACK    PRINCE.       By    EWAN    MARTIN. 

Illustrated  by  Gilbert  James. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  300  pages  .         .         .         $1-50 

An  exceedingly  well  written  romance,  dealing  with  the  romantic 
period  chronicled  so  admirably  by  Froissart.  The  scene  is  laid  at  a 
border  castle  between  England  and  Scotland,  the  city  of  London, 
and  on  the  French  battle-fields  of  Cressy  and  Poitiers.  Edward  the 
Third,  Queen  Philippa,  the  Black  Prince,  Bertrand  du  Guesclin,  are 
all  historical  characters,  accurate  reproductions  of  which  give  life 
and  vitality  to  the  romance.  The  character  of  the  hero  is  especially 
well  drawn. 


LIST    OF    FICTION 


The  Making   of  a   Saint.     ey  w.  SOMERSET 

MAUGHAM. 

Illustrated  by  Gilbert  James. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  350  pages  .         .         .         $1.50 

"  An  exceedingly  strong  story  of  original  motive  and  design.  .  .  .  The  scenes  are 
imbued  with  a  spirit  of  frankness  .  .  .  and  in  addition  there  is  a  strong  dramatic 
flavor."  —  Philadelphia  Press. 

"  A  sprightly  tale  abounding  in  adventures,  and  redolent  of  the  spirit  of  mediasval 
Italy."  —  Brooklyn  Times. 

Friendship  and   Folly.     A  NOVEL.    By  MARIA 

LOUISE  POOL. 
Author  of  "  Dally,"  "  A  Redbridge  Neighborhood,"  "  In  a  Dike 

Shanty,"  etc. 

Illustrated  by  J.  W.  Kennedy. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  300  pages  .         .         .         $1.25 

"The  author  handles  her  elements  with  skilful  fingers  —  fingers  that  feel  their 
way  most  truthfully  among  the  actual  emotions  and  occurrences  of  nineteenth 
century  romance.  Hers  is  a  frank,  sensitive  touch,  and  the  result  is  both  complete 
and  full  of  interest."  —  Boston  Ideas. 

"  The  story  will  rank  with  the  best  previous  work  of  this  author."  —  Indianapolis 
News. 


The  Rejuvenation  of  Miss  Semaphore. 

A  FARCICAL  NOVEL.     By  HAL  GODFREY. 
Illustrated  by  Etheldred  B.  Barry. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  300  pages  .         .         .         $1-25 

"  A  fanciful,  laughable  tale  of  two  maiden  sisters  of  uncertain  age  who  are  induced, 
by  their  natural  longing  for  a  return  to  youth  and  its  blessings,  to  pay  a  large  sum 
for  a  mystical  water  which  possesses  the  value  of  setting  backwards  the  hands  of 
time.  No  more  delightfully  fresh  and  original  book  has  appeared  since  '  Vice 
Versa'  charmed  an  amused  world.  It  is  well  written,  drawn  to  the  life,  and  full  of 
the  most  enjoyable  humor."  —  Boston  Beacon. 


The  Paths  Of  the  Prudent.     By  J.  S.  FLETCHER 
Author  of  "  When  Charles  I.  Was  King,"  "  Mistress  Spitfire,"  etc. 
Illustrated  by  J.  W.  Kennedy. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  300  pages  .         .         .         $1-50 

"  The  story  has  a  curious  fascination  for  the  reader,  and  the  theme  and  characters 
are  handled  with  rare  ability."  —  Scotsman. 

"  Dorinthia  is  charming.  The  story  is  told  with  great  humor."  —  Pall  Mall 
Gazette. 

"  An  excellently  well  told  story,  and  the  reader's  interest  is  perfectly  sustained  to 
the  very  end."  —  Punch. 


L.    C.    PAGE    AND    COMPANY  S 


CrOSS  Trails.     By  VICTOR  WAITE. 
Illustrated  by  J.  W.  Kennedy. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  450  pages  .         .         .         ^'-50 

"A  Spanish-American  novel  of  unusual  interest,  a  brilliant,  dashing,  and  stirring 
story,  teeming  with  humanity  and  life.  Mr.  Waite  is  to  be  congratulated  upon  the 
strength  with  which  he  has  drawn  his  characters."  —  San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

"  Every  page  is  enthralling."  —  Academy. 

"  Full  of  strength  and  reality."  —  AtJienaum. 

"  The  book  is  exceedingly  powerful."  —  Glasgow  Herald. 

BijH    the    Dancer.     By  JAMES  BLYTHE  PATTON. 
Illustrated  by  Horace  Van  Rinth. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  350  pages  .         .         .         $1.50 

"  A  novel  of  Modern  India.  .  .  .  The  fortunes  of  the  heroine,  an  Indian  nautch- 
girl,  are  told  with  a  vigor,  pathos,  and  a  wealth  of  poetic  sympathy  that  makes  the 
book  admirable  from  first  to  last."  —  Detroit  Free  Press. 

"A  remarkable  book."  —  Bookman. 

"  Powerful  and  fascinating."  —  Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

"A  vivid  picture  of  Indian  life."  —  Academy,  London. 

Drives    and    Puts.       A  BOOK  OF  GOLF  STORIES.      By 

WALTER  CAMP  and  LILIAN  BROOKS. 
Small  1 2mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated,  250  pages    .         $1.25 

"  It  will  be  heartily  relished  by  all  readers,  whether  golfers  or  not."  —  Boston 
Ideas. 

"  Decidedly  the  best  golf  stories  I  have  read." —  Milwaukee  Journal. 

"  Thoroughly  entertaining  and  interesting  in  every  page,  and  is  gotten  out  with 
care  and  judgment  that  indicate  rare  taste  in  bookmaking." — Chicago  Saturday 
Evening  Herald. 


Via    LUCIS.      By  KASSANDRA  VIVARIA. 
With  portrait  of  the  author. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  480  pages   .         .         .         $1.50 

"'Via  Lucis  '  is  —  we  say  it  unhesitatingly  —  a  striking  and  interesting  produc 
tion." —  London  Athenaum. 

"Without  doubt  the  most  notable  novel  of  the  summer  is  this  strong  story  of 
Italian  life,  so  full  of  local  color  one  can  almost  see  the  cool,  shaded  patios  and  the 
flame  of  the  pomegranate  blossom,  and  smell  the  perfume  of  the  grapes  growing  on 
the  hillsides.  It  is  a  story  of  deep  and  passionate  heart  interests,  of  fierce  loves  and 
fiercer  hates,  of  undisciplined  natures  that  work  out  their  own  bitter  destiny  of  woe. 
There  has  hardly  been  a  finer  piece  of  portraiture  than  that  of  the  child  Arduina,  — 
the  child  of  a  sickly  and  unloved  mother  and  a  cruel  and  vindictive  father,  — a  mor 
bid,  queer,  lonely  little  creature,  who  is  left  to  grow  up  without  love  or  training  of 
any  kind."  —  New  Orleans  Picayune. 


LIST    OF    FICTION 


"  To  Arms  !  "  BEING  SOME  PASSAGES  FROM  THE  EARLY 
LIFE  OF  ALLAN  OLIPHANT,  CHIRURGEON,  WRITTEN  BY 
HIMSELF,  AND  NOW  SET  FORTH  FOR  THE  FIRST  TIME. 
By  ANDREW  BALFOUR. 

Illustrated  by  F,  W.  Glover. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  575  pages  .         .         .         $1.50 

"  A  tale  of  '  Bonnie  Tweedside,'  and  St.  Dynans  and  Auld  Reekie,  —  a  fair  picture 
of  thetcountry  under  misrule  and  usurpation  and  all  kinds  of  vicissitudes.  Allan  Oli- 
phant  is  a  great  hero."  —  Chicago  Times-Herald. 

"A  recital  of  thrilling  interest,  told  with  unflagging  vigor." — Globe. 

"  An  unusually  excellent  example  of  a  semi-historic  romance." —  World. 

The  River  Of  Pearls  ;  OR,  THE  RED  SPIDER.  A 
CHINESE  ROMANCE.  By  RENF,  DE  PONT-JEST. 

With  sixty  illustrations  from  original  drawings  by  Felix  Re- 
gamey. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  300  pages  .         .         .         $1-50 

Close  acquaintance  with  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  Chinese 
has  enabled  the  author  to  write  a  story  which  is  instructive  as  well 
as  interesting.  The  book,  as  a  whole,  shows  the  writer  to  be  pos 
sessed  of  a  strong  descriptive  faculty,  as  well  as  keen  insight  into 
the  characters  of  the  people  of  whom  he  is  writing.  The  plot  is 
cleverly  conceived  and  well  worked  out,  and  the  story  abounds  with 
incidents  of  the  most  exciting  and  sensational  character.  Enjoy 
ment  of  its  perusal  is  increased  by  the  powerful  illustrations  of  Felix 
Regamey. 

The  book  may  be  read  with  profit  by  any  one  who  wishes  to 
realize  the  actual  condition  of  native  life  in  China. 


Lally  Of  the  Brigade.  A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  IRISH 
BRIGADE  IN  FRANCE  DURING  THE  TIME  OF  Louis  THE 
FOURTEENTH.  By  L.  McMANus. 

Author   of    "The    Silk    of   the   Kine,"  "The   Red   Star,"  etc. 

Illustrated. 

Library  1 2mo,  cloth  decorative,  250  pages  .         .         .        £1.25 

The  scene  of  this  romance  is  partly  at  the  siege  of  Crimona  (held 
by  the  troops  of  Louis  XIV.)  by  the  Austrian  forces  under  Prince 
Eugene.  During  the  siege  the  famous  Irish  Brigade  renders  valiant 
service,  and  the  hero  —  a  dashing  young  Irishman — is  in  the  thick 
of  the  fighting.  He  is  also  able  to  give  efficient  service  in  unravel 
ling  a  political  intrigue,  in  which  the  love  affairs  of  the  hero  and  the 
heroine  are  interwoven. 


8  L.    C.    PAGE    AND    COMPANY'S 

Frivolities.     ESPECIALLY  ADDRESSED  TO  THOSE  WHO  ARE 

TIRED  OF  BEING  SERIOUS.     By  RICHARD  MARSH. 
Author  of  "  Tom  Ossington's  Ghost,"  etc. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  340  p^ges  .         .         .         $1.50 

A  dozen  stories  in  an  entirely  new  vein  for  Mr.  Marsh.  The 
humor  is  irresistible,  and  carries  the  reader  on  breathlessly  from  one 
laugh  to  another.  The  style,  though  appealing  to  a  totally  different 
side  of  complex  human  nature,  is  as  strong  and  effective  as  the 
author's  intense  and  dramatic  work  in  "  Tom  Ossington's  Ghost." 


Sons   Of  Adversity.      A  ROMANCE  OF  QUEEN  ELIZA 
BETH'S  TIME.     By  L.  COPE  CORN  FORD. 
Author  of  "  Captain  Jacobus,"  etc. 
Illustrated  by  J.  W.  Kennedy. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  325  pages    .         .         .         $1.25 

"  A  tale  of  adventure  on  land  and  sea  at  the  time  when  Protestant  England  and 
Catholic  Spain  were  struggling  for  naval  supremacy.  Spanish  conspiracies  against 
the  peace  of  good  Queen  Bess,  a  vivid  description  of  the  raise  of  the  Spanish  siege  of 
Leyden  by  the  combined  Dutch  and  English  forces,  sea  fights,  the  recovery  of  stolen 
treasure,  are  all  skilfully  woven  elements  in  a  plot  of  unusual  strength."  —  Pitlsburg 
Bulletin. 


The  Count  Of  Nideck.  FROM  THE  FRENCH  OF 
ERCKMANN-CHATRIAN,  TRANSLATED  AND  ADAPTED  BY 
RALPH  BROWNING  FISKE. 

Illustrated  by  Victor  A.  Searles. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  375  pages   .         .         .         $1-25 

"'The  Count  of  Nideck,'  adapted  from  the  French  of  Erckmann-Chatrian  by 
Ralph  Browning  Fiske,  is  a  most  interesting  tale,  simply  told,  and  moving  with 
direct  force  to  the  end  in  view."  —  Minneapolis  Times. 

"  Rapid  in  movement,  it  abounds  in  dramatic  incident,  furnishes  graphic  descrip 
tions  of  the  locality,  and  is  enlivened  with  a  very  pretty  love  story." —  Troy  Budget. 


;    OR,  LE  SELVE.     By  OUIDA. 
Illustrated  by  M.  B.  Prendergast. 

Library  I amo,  cloth  decorative,  250  pages   .         .         .         $1-25 
"Ouida's  literary   style   is  almost   perfect   in   '  Muriella.' "  —  Chicago    Times- 
Herald. 

"'Muriella'  is  an  admirable  example  of  the  author's  best  work."  —  Brooklyn 
Ti-mts. 

"  It  dwells  in  the  memory,  and  bears  the  dramatic  force,  tragic  interest,  and 
skilfulness  of  treatment  that  mark  the  work  of  Ouida  when  at  her  best."  —  Pittsbvrg 
Bulletin. 


LIST    OF    FICTION 


The  Archbishop's  Unguarded  Moment. 

By  OSCAR  FAY  ADAMS. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated,  300  pages         $1.25 

"A  very  captivating  volume." — Evening  Wisconsin. 
"  Brimming  over  with  humor."  —  Chicago  Chronicle. 

"  He  who  cares  to  pass  a  few  hours  in  quiet  enjoyment  and  subdued  laughter  will 
do  well  to  become  the  possessor  of  this  clever  volume."  —  American,  Philadelphia. 

The    Works  of  Gabriel  d'Annunzio. 

The  Triumph  of  Death. 
The  Intruder. 
The  Maidens  of  the  Rocks. 
The  Child  of  Pleasure. 

Each,  i  vol.,  library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative          .         .         $1.50 

"  The  writer  of  the  greatest  promise  to-day  in  Italy,  and  perhaps  one  of  the  most 
unique  figures  in  contemporary  literature,  is  Gabriel  d'Annunzio,  the  poet-novelist." 
—  The  Bookman. 

"  This  book  is  realistic.  Some  say  that  it  is  brutally  so.  But  the  realism  is  that 
of  Flaubert  and  not  of  Zola.  There  is  no  plain  speaking  for  the  sake  of  plain  speak 
ing.  Every  detail  is  justified  in  the  fact  that  it  illuminates  either  the  motives  or  the 
actions  of  the  man  and  woman  who  here  stand  revealed.  It  is  deadly  true.  The 
author  holds  the  mirror  up  to  nature,  and  the  reader,  as  he  sees  his  own  experiences 
duplicated  in  passage  after  passage,  has  something  of  the  same  sensation  as  all  of  us 
know  on  the  first  reading  of  George  Meredith's  '  Egoist.'  Reading  these  pages  is 
like  being  out  in  the  country  on  a  dark  night  in  a  storm.  Suddenly  a  flash  of  light 
ning  comes  and  every  detail  of  your  surroundings  is  revealed."  —  Review  of  the 
Triumph  of  Death,  in  the  New  York  Evening  Sun. 

Ye  Lyttle  Salem  Maide.    A  STORY  OF  WITCH 

CRAFT.     By  PAULINE  BRADFORD  MACKIE. 
With  four  full-page  photogravures  from  drawings  by  E.  W.  D. 

Hamilton. 
Printed   on   deckle-edged  paper,  with  gilt  top,  and  bound  in 

cloth  decorative,  321  pages $1-50 

A  tale  of  the  days  of  the  reign  of  superstition  in  New  England, 
and  of  a  brave  "  lyttle  maide "  of  Salem  Town,  whose  faith  and 
hope  and  unyielding  adherence  to  her  word  of  honor  form  the  basis 
of  a  most  attractive  story.  Several  historical  characters  are  intro 
duced,  including  the  Rev.  Cotton  Mather  and  Governor  and  Lady 
Phipps,  and  a  very  convincing  picture  is  drawn  of  Puritan  life  during 
the  latter  part  of  the  seventeenth  century.  An  especial  interest  is 
added  to  the  book  by  the  illustrations,  reproduced  by  the  photo 
gravure  process  from  originals  by  E.  W.  D.  Hamilton. 


IO  L.    C.    PAGE    AND    COMPANY  S 

Mademoiselle  de  Berny.    A  STORY  OF  VALLEY 

FORGE.     By  PAULINE  BRADFORD  MACKIE. 
With  five  full-page  photogravures  from  drawings  by  Frank  T. 

Merrill. 
Printed   on   deckle-edged  paper,  with  gilt  top,  and   bound   in 

cloth  decorative,  272  pages $1.50 

"  The  charm  of  '  Mademoiselle  de  Berny  '  lies  in  its  singular  sweetness."  —  Boston 
Herald. 

"  One  of  the  very  few  choice  American  historical  stories."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

"  Real  romance  .  .  .  admirably  written." — /£ 'ashington  Post. 

"  A  stirring  romance,  full  of  life  and  action  from  start  to  finish."  —  Toledo  Daily 
Blade. 

"  Of  the  many  romances  in  which  Washington  is  made  to  figure,  this  is  one  of  the 
most  fascinating,  one  of  the  best."  —  Boston  Courier. 

Ca.pta.in    praCaSSe.      TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  FRENCH 

OF  GAUTIER.     By  ELLEN  MURRAY  BEAM. 
Illustrated  by  Victor  A.  Searles. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  575  pages   .         .         .         $1.25 

"The  story  is  one  of  the  best  in  romantic  fiction,  for  upon  it  Gautier  lavished  his 
rare  knowledge  of  the  twelfth  century.  —  San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

"  One  of  those  rare  stories  in  which  vitality  is  abundant.  —  New  York  Herald. 

In    Guiana    Wilds.       A  STUDY  OF  Two  WOMEN.     By 

JAMES  RODWAY. 

Author  of  "  In  the  Guiana  Forest,"  etc. 
Library  12010,  cloth,  decorative,  illustrated,  250  pages         $1  —  5 

"  In  Guiana  Wilds "  may  be  described  as  an  ethnological 
romance.  A  typical  young  Scotchman  becomes,  by  the  force  of 
circumstances,  decivilized,  and  mates  with  a  native  woman. 

It  is  a  psychological  study  of  great  power  and  ability. 

The  Gray  House  of  the  Quarries.   By  MARY 

HARRIOTT  NORRIS. 

With  a  frontispiece  etching  by  Edmund  H.  Garrett. 
8vo,  cloth  decorative,  500  pages  .....         $1.50 

"The  peculiar  genre,  for  which,  in  a  literary  sense,  all  must  acknowledge  obliga 
tion  to  the  author  of  a  new  type,  is  the  Dutch- American  species.  The  church-goings, 
the  courtings,  the  pleasures  and  sorrows  of  a  primitive  people,  their  lives  and  deaths, 
weddings,  suicides,  births,  and  burials,  are  Rembrandt  and  Rubens  pictures  on  a 
fresh  canvas."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

"  The  fine  ideal  of  womanhood  in  a  person  never  once  physically  described  will 
grati'v  tbr>  h'lhess  tone  of  the  period,  and  is  an  ennobling  conception."  —  Time  and 
the  Hour,  Boston. 


LIST    OF    FICTION  I  I 

Vivian  Of  Virginia.  BEING  THE  MEMOIRS  OF  OUR 
FIRST  REBELLION,  BY  JOHN  VIVIAN,  ESQ.,  OF  MIDDLE 
PLANTATION,  VIRGINIA.  By  HULBERT  FULLER. 

With  ten  full-page  illustrations  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  gilt  top,  deckle-edge 
paper,  375  pages $1.50 

"A  stirring  and  accurate  account  of  the  famous  Bacon  rebellion."  —  Los  Angeles 
Sunday  Times. 

"  We  shall  have  to  search  far  to  find  a  better  colonial  story  than  this."  —  Denver 
Republican. 

"  A  well-conceived,  well-plotted  romance,  full  of  life  and  adventure."  —  Chicago 
Inter-Ocean. 

"A  story  abounding  in  exciting  incidents  and  well-told  conversations."  —  Boston 
Journal. 

"  Mr.  Fuller  will  find  a  large  circle  of  readers  for  his  romance  who  will  not  be 
disappointed  in  their  pleasant  expectations."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

"  Instead  of  using  history  as  a  background  for  the  exploits  of  the  hero,  the  author 
used  the  hero  to  bring  out  history  and  the  interesting  events  of  those  early  days  in 
Virginia.  The  author  has  preserved  the  language  and  customs  of  the  times  admi 
rably."  —  Philadelphia  Telegram. 

A    flan=at=ArmS.     A  ROMANCE  OF  ITALY  IN  THE  DAYS 

OF    GIAN    GALEAZZO   VISCONTI,   THE    GREAT   VIPER.     By 

CLINTON  SCOLLARD. 
Author  of  "  Skenandoa,"  etc. 
With   six   full-page   illustrations   and  title-page  by  E.   W.  D. 

Hamilton. 
Library  i2mo,  cloth  decorative,  gilt  top,  deckle-edge 

paper,  360  pages $1-50 

"  The  style  is  admirable,  simple,  direct,  fluent,  and  sometimes  eloquent ;  and  the 
story  moves  with  rapidity  from  start  to  finish." —  The  Bookman. 
"  A  good  story."  —  N.  Y.  Commercial  Advertiser, 
"  It  is  a  triumph  in  style."  —  Utica  Herald. 


Bobbie    McDllff .      By  CLINTON  Ross,  AUTHOR  OF  "THE 

SCARLET  COAT,"  "  ZULEIKA,"  ETC. 
Illustrated  by  B.  West  Clinedinst. 
Large  i6mo,  cloth  decorative,  260  pages      .         .         .         $1.00 

"  '  Bobbie  McDuff ,'  by  Clinton  Ross,  is  a  healthy  romance,  tersely  and  vigorously 
told. "  —  L ouisville  Courier-Journal. 

"It  is  full  of  mystery  and  as  fascinating  as  a  fairy  tale."  —  San  Francisco 
Chronicle. 


"  It  is  a  well-written  story,  full  of  surprises  and  abounding  in  vivid  interest."  — 
Tht  Congregationalist,  Boston. 


12  L.    C.    PAGE    AND    COMPANY  S 

A    Hypocritical     Romance    AND  OTHER  STORIES. 

By  CAROLINE  TICKNOR. 
Illustrated  by  J.  \V.  Kennedy. 

Large  i6mo,  cloth  decorative $1.00 

Miss  Ticknor,  well  known  as  one  of  the  most  promising  of  the 
younger  school  of  American  writers,  has  never  done  better  work 
than  in  the  majority  of  these  clever  stories,  written  in  a  delightful 
comedy  vein. 

A     Mad      Madonna     AND    OTHER    STORIES.      By  L. 

CLARKSON  WHITELOCK. 
With  eight  half-tone  illustrations. 

I  vol.,  large  i6mo,  cloth  decorative      ....         $1.00 

A  half  dozen  remarkable  psychological  stories,  delicate  in  color 

and  conception.     Each  of  the  six  has  a  touch  of  the  supernatural,  a 

quick  suggestion,  a  vivid  intensity,  and  a  dreamy  realism  that  is 

matchless  in  its  forceful  execution. 

On    the    Point.       A    SUMMER   IDYL.     By  NATHAN  HAS- 
KELL  DOLE. 

Author  of  "  Not  Angels  Quite,"  with  dainty  half-tone  illustra 
tions  as  chapter  headings. 

I  vol.,  large  i6mo,  cloth  decorative  ....  $1.00 
A  bright  and  clever  story  of  a  summer  on  the  coast  of  Maine, 
fresh,  breezy,  and  readable  from  the  first  to  the  last  page.  The 
narrative  describes  the  summer  outing  of  a  Mr.  Merrithew  and  his 
family.  The  characters  are  all  honest,  pleasant  people,  whom  we 
are  glad  to  know.  We  part  from  them  with  the  same  regret  with 
which  we  leave  a  congenial  party  of  friends. 

Cyrano  de  Bergerac.      A  HEROIC  COMEDY  FROM 

THE  FRENCH  OF  EDWARD  ROSTAND,  AS  ACCEPTED  AND 
PLAYED  BY  RICHARD  MANSFIELD.  TRANSLATED  BY  HOW 
ARD  THAYER  KINGSBURY. 

I  vol.,  cloth  decorative,  with  a  photogravure  frontis 
piece  $1.00 

i  vol.,  paper  boards .50 

The  immediate  and  prolonged  success  of  "  Cyrano  de  Bergerac," 
in  Paris,  has  been  paralleled  by  Mr.  Mansfield's  success  with  an 
English  version,  dating  from  its  first  night  at  the  Garden  Theatre, 
New  York,  October  3,  1898. 

As  a  literary  work,  the  original  form  of  Rostand  took  high  rank ; 
and  the  preference  of  Mr.  Mansfield  for  Mr.  Kingsbury's  new  trans 
lation  implies  its  superior  merit. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  032  297     4 


